


Memories of a Muse

by LigeiaMaloy



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Banter, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Pining, Praise Kink, Teasing, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Virgin Crowley (Good Omens), and he would have gotten away with it if it weren't for Aziraphale's formidable naked butt, angsty Crowley is best Crowley, he feels pressured to open a book and look at the pictures, much angsty, surprise miracle self-lubrication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-19 09:22:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22575502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LigeiaMaloy/pseuds/LigeiaMaloy
Summary: Italy in the 1920s. Crowley and Aziraphale haven’t spoken since the holy-water-gate but their assignments forced them to cross paths at a party hosted by one of the more decadent artists of the decade. Crowley is shocked and surprised when he learns Aziraphale plays the role of the artist’s muse but that was nothing to the shop when Aziraphale brushes his warnings off. Turns out, his pure, prim, and proper angel is not as innocent as he thought. It takes a trip to a library and one of Italy’s most famous art destinations for Crowley to truly grasp how wrong he had been. Why others but never him? It’s easy to forget how dangerous love can be between a being of Heaven and Hell when you’re a demon who’s been crushing hard on an angel for six millennia.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 74
Collections: Good Omens Big Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to the Good Omens Big Bang 2019!  
> It has been an exciting time and writing this was fun. The whole event was fun and still is, not least because of the amazing and supportive team of mods. 
> 
> Three cheers go to my BB partner [Gorillazgal86 who turned this fic into a wonderful podfic.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22550431)  
>   
> Three cheers also to my beta [aeremaee!](https://aeremaee.tumblr.com) Thank you for your never ending patience and words of encouragement (and helping me to overcome my fear of betas ;))
> 
> And more thank yous: Thank you for the invention of story coaches and [bigleosis's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigleosis/pseuds/bigleosis) support when I needed it in the early stages!
> 
> [The complete package on tumblr!](https://gorillazgal86.tumblr.com/post/190666282141/title-memory-of-a-muse-word-count-22923-archive)  
> The story plays after their argument in 1862, St. James Park, and before they meet again in 1941 in canon. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy and may the art history enthusiasts among you forgive me!

The roaring twenties. A decade of change, art, fashion. Sometimes progress, as long as it was about statements of indulgence. It was one of those decades full of life and zest, since nothing more effective existed to shake off the shackles of old misery.

It was a decade of dances and smoke spirals and decadence.

For those who could afford true decadence, however, it was just another Tuesday.

Today was one of those Tuesdays in a villa in Italy, not far away from Vatican city, and close by the River Tiber. If buildings were people, this villa had a few years to go to be considered an adult and thus did its best to appear older while following what was supposed to be the trend of its time. Twenty years from now, it’d look at pictures from its teenage years and be embarrassed about the obnoxious style it wore back then, a mix of rococo, art deco, and whatever else was considered to be cool. But it was a building, so its taste couldn’t improve and on the plus side, buildings rarely felt embarrassed.

Crowley felt it in its place, flinching as if the sight of colourful, ornamented walls poked him in the eyes with long, sharp fingernails. He quickly recovered his smile when the lady by his side tugged him through the salon, to introduce her newest ‘toy’ to a group of faces he had never seen before and that he and history would forget at the earliest convenience. Unlike the short woman whose short, black hair made her child-like face look even rounder. She had what was needed to leave an impact, as long as Crowley’s influence combined him doing his job and her living up to her full potential. 

He nodded and shook hands with a spiv who introduced himself as a friend of his victim’s fiance, deeply regretting the absence of the man Crowley gave less than a fuck about.

“What a lovely sentiment,” he pressed through his toothy smile. “If you excuse me, Jeanne, I saw an old acquaintance of mine, at the other end of the room. Enjoy catching up with this lovely gentleman, who, I’m sure, will often grace your home with his presence once you’re married.”

Her dark-lined eyes squinted at him as she mouthed “traitor”. He winked and sauntered away. This was part of his plan, naturally. The sooner she got fed up by the future that awaited her if she continued on the appropriate path, the sooner he’d get his job done. This little escape had nothing to do with him fearing a painful death by boredom.

He quickly found the bar. Drink in hand, he leaned back and took in his surroundings. After living through a few millennia of art history, he knew that only two or three handfuls of names would go down in the books, per continent. Which meant, if every future big name of Europe was gathered in this room tonight, less than 80% would make the cut. But look at them, milling about, talking loudly, the only thing outmatching the big mouths being their big egos.

He took a sip from his glass. Well, at least the whiskey was good, he’d give them that. Which wasn’t hard. Alcohol was one of the few arts that rarely fooled with its price tag. As long as they could count the zeros behind the first number, even the most pretentious idiots could stock a bar worth Crowley’s time. The band wasn’t too bad either. The musicians were young and didn’t hit every key but they carried their upbeat tunes with the genuine passion that was everything he wanted from jazz.

Aside from that, most of the laughter he heard was as fake as the jewellery the majority of the guests wore. And they wore a lot. The cheaper the brass and glass stones, the more bracelets were clanking around one wrist. Earrings the size of small fists dangled from stretched earlobes, their fashion ten, twenty years behind. But splendid they looked to those who judged by size and sparkle alone. People also laughed a lot. Sweet smoke of cigars and other substances clouded the air and burnt in his eyes despite his sunglasses.

If there was anything he wasn’t silently nagging about, it was that nobody cared about a tall, lanky man with flaming red hair wearing sunglasses inside on a cloudy day. No, who was he fooling, of course he was drawing attention. For all the right reasons, too, because as far as he was concerned, he, the only one present who never lifted a paintbrush in almost 6000 years, was the most stylish one there. The navy blue suit brought out the rich shades of his hair and was tailored after the newest trends. Well, almost. The pants were tighter than was common even among the more daring youth. Crowley didn’t care, and fortunately, he was the only person whose opinions he gave a damn about.

He had also resisted wearing his hair in the current fashion and kept it long and in a ponytail today. It offered a nice contrast to his protégé’s short, dark haircut and had nothing to do with anyone remarking on the beauty of it. Certainly not any angels who expressed regrets on his then-en vogue short cut a few decades ago.

He sighed and raised his glass to his lips, only to find it was empty. There was more where the first round had come from and less than an hour and several drinks later, the world was beginning to look less ridiculous. Less like Hell in a fancier colour palette.

Warmth spread in his insides from the alcohol and he swore he was getting high just from the fumes around him. He didn’t complain, he was getting close to a nice buzz and slowly, the idea of socializing became more appealing. He should see what Jeanne was doing, if she had already found who she had really hoped to see or if she required a little help from her assigned guardian demon.

He let the bartender refill his glass one more time and made his way through the swaying masses. Two more drinks, he calculated, and they’d evolve from swaying to spinning.

He had reached the middle of the room when he heard laughter. He froze. This sound was different, it was genuine. It would have been a giggle if it weren’t so deep, and it would have been a chuckle if it weren’t so playful. And it wouldn’t have caught his attention if it wasn’t so familiar, yet unlike anything he had heard before.

He twisted around, almost stumbling over his feet as the whiskey slowed down his legs. The people around him faded into obscurity, he didn’t notice shoulders bumping into him or how half of his drink spilled over his fingers.

At the other end of the room, a couple came down the stairs. Crowley recognized tonight’s host and quickly forgot about him. He stared at the figure holding on to the old man’s arm.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley’s mouth moved without making a sound. The glass dropped to the floor and shattered, the shards stomped to dust by countless heels while Crowley pushed himself through the crowd. He was here tonight? But was it even him?

The last time he and the angel had talked they parted in scorn, and for the first few years after that he was convinced this weird, tentative thing that had been growing between them and torturing him since the dawn of humanity was over and they’d never talk again.

Right now, he had forgotten about the argument or that his choice of consequence was a several decades-long nap. This was Aziraphale. If Crowley were blind, he’d still recognize him by the bright blue of his eyes in a pitch-black night. He’d feel his little, nervous laughs in the core of his being if he were deaf and buried.

Only, it wasn’t nervous, or hesitant, or worried. It was carefree and beautiful and Crowley had never heard him laugh like this before.

His lips were redder than usual, like blood on fresh snow when he flashed a wide smile at his companion. A tilt of the head, a wink with heavy, dark eyelashes.

Crowley tumbled towards the bottom of the stairs, his jaw loose but his tongue tied.

“Ah… uh… I… Aziraphale?”

The couple stopped and stared at the intruder who almost fell between them.

“Go on, Felipe,” Aziraphale whispered into the man’s ear. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

“As you wish, my prince.” That old man, Felipe, patted Aziraphale’s hand and nodded at Crowley. “Good evening, gentleman.” He waved nonchalantly and stepped past him. The angel by his side slipped away from him and glared at Crowley.

“Crowley?! What are you doing here? What devilish mischief have you planned this time?” Aziraphale scowled at him but he failed to stop his mouth from twitching.

“Uh, nice hair! Suits you.” Crowley’s brain slowly began to work again although it was processing the events with a slight delay.

“Oh, thank you.” Aziraphale’s expression softened and he gave him a hesitant smile. Crowley was familiar with that one. Apparently, that old geezer had found out how to earn Aziraphale’s seductive smile before he had. “I admit, I’m rather fond of this decade’s style and decided to dress appropriately for the job.” He was wearing his blond hair even shorter than usual at the back of his head and in longer waves at the front, two ends deliciously curling on his forehead.

“I can see that.” Crowley was beginning to recover his wits, which might as well be a defence mechanism of his buzzed brain to prevent him from doing or saying something stupid. “Quite the playboy, aren’t we? I see Heaven expanded its business if it’s  _ appropriate  _ for angels to dress up like catamites.” He eyed Aziraphale from head to toe. Gone were the frills and vests and other layers. He wore a simple but exquisitely tailored suit, tan, as usual, the soft fabric draped over his shoulders and hips in shameless flattery of his curves. The shirt, a simple and effective cut, loosely flowed over his chest, the top button open, revealing just enough of a hint of golden chest hair to lure Crowley’s gaze deeper. Feminine, yet clearly made for a man. This damn angel, wasn’t he satisfied with being cute anymore? Did he have to look this beautiful?

“Catamite? How dare you!” Aziraphale’s indignation brought Crowley back to reality and face to face with a pair of blue, glaring eyes. “Crowley, if you’ve only come to insult me, I’d rather have you leave. I haven’t forgotten how abysmally you treated me 1862 and if you think I’d let you continue-”

“ _ I  _ treated  _ you _ abysmally?” Crowley hissed back, finally sobering up. “You treated  _ me _ as not worthy of the good, pure angel’s time and acted like just talking to me is a shameful secret. Rich, considering you’re playing the boy toy for old farts nowadays.” Crowley was waving his arms, making faces and his voice grew louder.  _ Fraternise. _ Sixty years later, it still stung that this was the name Aziraphale gave them.

“You-!” Aziraphale cut himself off. Within a fragment of a second, the anger melted from his face. His eyes widened until his eyebrows almost disappeared under his hair. Crowley had a gut feeling that he didn’t like this abrupt change.

“Crowley, dear, are you jealous?”

Yes, didn’t like it at all. “ _ Jealous? Me?” _ But even the italics of all literature ever written couldn’t hide how flustered he was. “Why the hell should  _ I  _ be  _ jealous _ ? You think it’s that easy, you put on a new suit and comb your hair differently, and- are you wearing makeup?!”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, shaking his head, and grabbed Crowley by the arm.

“We need to talk, somewhere where you can’t shout the house down. And yes, I am.”

Aziraphale pulled him through a side door and, with wide and angry steps, down a dark corridor. The music and chatter faded behind them and was gone once they stood in the silence of the garden. A narrow path wound its way between rose bushes and old, gnarly trees with neatly cut-back crowns. Aziraphale got a lantern and matches from somewhere and lit their way.

“Nice.” Crowley nodded in appreciation. The shadows of the plants and trees danced around them, sometimes threatening, sometimes ignoring them. The small flame awakened the lustrous greens and pinks of the roses as they walked past them, hinting at the beauty of the garden during the day and the fairy tale it was at dusk and dawn.

“Nice, really,” Crowley repeated when they walked through a flower arc at the end of the path. A pool stretched before them, the water dark in the night and glistering in the lantern’s light. “Apparently, your Felipe-” he let the last syllable pop over his lips, “has at least some taste left in his dry bones.”

“Crowley, please.” Aziraphale put the lantern on a nearby bench and turned back to Crowley, crossing his arms. During the light of the day, his hair was just blond, a hint too bright to look natural to the human eye but normal enough to easily be explained with bleach and dye. Any other light, however, brought out its magic. If it were a moonlit night, it’d glow white and cold like the moon itself, almost making the angel look like a spectre that would dissolve at the lightest touch, if it wasn’t for his very alive eyes. In the light of a flame, however, it was sparkling like liquid gold that would be warm to the touch if Crowley dared to reach out. He stuffed his fists into the pockets of his pants.

“Please, what? Is it my fault that your new best friend’s taste looks like he can barely spell the word  _ aesthetics _ ?”

“I brought you here to talk but if you’d rather insult me and my friend, I might as well go back inside and enjoy myself.” His eyes weren’t the only thing about him that was very much alive. His frown was as well and the threat lingering in his voice was so real it was palpable.

“Okay, okay, all’s fine. Didn’t say anything really, did I? Whaddya want to talk about?” If Aziraphale didn’t have an answer to that, Crowley would have a few suggestions and what the fuck the angel was doing here wasn’t even the first that came to mind. His questions went from why the hell he had never thought of leaving one single note for Crowley while he had been asleep, over whether he changed his mind after their last argument sixty years ago, to who the fuck picked these clothes? He himself? His buddy Felipe? Just thinking that name burnt in the back of his throat like bile. And no, he was not jealous. As if it mattered that Aziraphale had turned down his offers to help him to expand his fashion sense for four or five thousand years or so.

“Well, if you would share what brings you here today, that would be a nice beginning, wouldn’t it? I helped with the invitations and I don’t remember seeing your name on one of them.”

“So what?” Crowley stared at the clouded sky. “I’m a demon, I go wherever I want, I don’t need your permission.” Unless it would be about going with Aziraphale. Home, for example. Not that  _ that  _ permission would ever come, although he had once thought he had reason to believe it would.

“Of course. Demon. Well then, oh scary one, what devilish work brought you here today? I hope you don’t believe I changed my mind about the hol- the thing you asked me the other day.” Towards the end, Aziraphale’s voice became angry but there was also a hint of fear that didn’t escape Crowley’s ears. No, asking Aziraphale again to supply him with holy water, just in case Crowley ever needed to erase his whole existence, was not worth it if the thought still upset him that much.

“Believe it or not, I wasn’t aware of your presence either. My target got invited and I took the opportunity to lay the groundwork for a little temptation. No, I’m not ruining some innocent soul’s life and nobody’s gonna die.” 

He growled when Aziraphale scowled at him. That damn angel should know him better by now. There was no finesse in a human’s life-long misery. Or death. “Just helping a young lady to not get married to a complete dud. If you think about it, it’s almost a blessing. Maybe our guys got their paperwork mixed up.” His grin turned quickly into a sigh when Aziraphale’s frown deepened. He should have known that Aziraphale was projecting when he accused Crowley of jealousy. He could tell him that there was nothing to worry about, Jeanne was an entertaining human whose bad taste in men was not surprising when her real passion had gentle curves, soft skin, and was called Anna.

“Anyway, an easy job like this is worth swaying my hips a bit, don’t you agree?” he said instead. And winked at him, for good measure.

“I don’t see why I have to agree. It’s your field of expertise, after all,” Aziraphale replied through tight lips, sounding quite miffed.

“Oh, I don’t know. I value a second opinion now and then. And after all, you’ve been doing some hip-swaying yourself lately, haven’t you?” He bared his teeth in an attempt to grin. “I misjudged your taste, though.”

“I’m not-!” Aziraphale clenched his teeth and took a deep breath. His expression changed and after all the teasing, Crowley had never expected Aziraphale to  _ smirk _ at him. Like  _ that _ ! While shooting him a wicked glance with hooded eyes! Crowley swallowed. He’d have killed for Aziraphale to look at him like that but the timing was beyond horrible.

“I assume that’s your way to phrase the question what I’m doing here,” Aziraphale said with a sly smile. “If you must know, my job is to inspire Felipe. He reached the skill to earn himself a splendid living a long time ago. Unfortunately, he’s too satisfied with his life as is to unfold his true potential. I’m here to give him a… oh, how should I word it… little nudge in the right direction. To enkindle his… passion.”

“Uh… You… I mean, I…” Crowley tried to gasp and inhale sharply at the same time, cutting his words into a stammer. The pauses were maddening and he was certain Aziraphale did it on purpose. He shut his mouth, closed his eyes, inhaled, and exhaled slowly. He tried again. “And for that, you had to dress up and snuggle up to him as if you wanted to seduce him right there on the stairs?”

“Don’t be vulgar,” Aziraphale replied with a hiss that impressed Crowley. He couldn’t have hissed better. However, that didn’t help him with the thought that he’d have preferred a ‘Don’t be ridiculous, of course not!’

“It’s simply the easiest way, Crowley. And didn’t I learn from the best? You like doing a job the easy way.” There was the wicked smirk again.

“Yeah, yeah.” Crowley kicked the gravel under his feet. A few pebbles landed in the pool, rippling the still surface.

“Felipe is a man who appreciates beauty,” Aziraphale continued, folding his hands in front of him. “Especially in humans. To influence him, I had to get close to him, closer than any of his friends. And for that, I have to, how would you say it, step up my game a little. Oh, and just so you know, I don’t believe you when you say you don’t like how I look.”

“Never said I didn’t.” Crowley shrugged. “It suits you but you seem to know that perfectly well yourself. So, seems like a fun job, eh? You enjoy, uh, being with that old creeper?” Crowley did his best to stare past him but whenever he tried to fixate on a tree or bush behind Aziraphale, his gaze wandered back to the patch of revealed skin beneath his collar bone. He had to trust his sunglasses to shield this unnecessary truth from Aziraphale.

“You have no reason to insult a man you don’t know.” Aziraphale sighed, sounding tired. “And yes, I do so very much. You might mock his taste in architecture, but beneath all this pomp, he is frightfully cultivated. Ah, the conversations we have! He’s very charming as well. And a kind soul through and through, and the way he captures the world in his paintings might not be divine yet, but is nevertheless breathtaking! The vibrancy of his colours, the tenderness, the pure eros!”

Laughter forced itself up Crowley’s throat so abruptly, he almost choked. He wanted to vomit at Aziraphale’s polished, far too fashionable for him, leather shoes through his whole reverent speech, but that took the cake!

“Eros?! You sure you don’t mean lust? Good, old, vulgar lust?” he croaked through his coughing fit.

“Crowley, please!”

“No, no. I’ve seen his art. It’s lust. Definitely lust. The carnal-est of the carnal kind. Hell, Aziraphale, his work isn’t even pretentious about it!”

“Oh, and you’re an authority on eros in art now? Tsk!” Aziraphale raised his chin and turned away from him.

“If that means I’m not blinded by Heaven’s naive ideas about carnal desires and can clearly see that a painting doesn’t get declared obscene because of the artist’s ties to the local nobility, yeah. I guess I am some kind of authority.”

“And I guess you’re an authority on loving to hear yourself talk. You think you’re so smart, Crowley, so much smarter than me. When there’s such a good chance that you’re just another dumb demon?”

Crowley laughed. “Dumb demon? That’s it? Well, looks like your Mr. Frightfully Cultivated isn’t rubbing off on ya.”

“You’re insufferable. I’m going back inside.  _ You  _ can take a swim for all I care. Goodnight.” Aziraphale sneered and turned on his heel, promptly following the path back to the villa. Crowley bit his tongue. Damn, he got carried away with what was supposed to be one of their playful banters. He should have dialled down the malice in his voice. He had chosen to pout the last time Aziraphale stomped off on him. He would not wait another sixty years before they talked again.

“Hey, angel! Wait!” He hastened after him and grabbed Aziraphale by the shoulder, turning him around. “Sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it. Like that!” Without thinking, he pulled off his sunglasses, begging him with his yellow eyes to listen. Aziraphale sighed and rolled his eyes.

“You have one minute, Crowley.”

“Try to understand me here, angel! I’m not the kind of guy who says he’s worried, but I’m damn worried about you! All I want is to stop you from making a mistake. I’m worried you don’t see that old geezer’s true colours.” Crowley’s jaw remained dropped as if he had forgotten to close his mouth. He tilted his head, trying to think of other things to say but there were too many for him to decide.

“And I’m worried you don’t see  _ my  _ true colours, Crowley,” Aziraphale grunted but his voice already softened a little. “I appreciate your concern, I really do. But I’d like you to trust that I know how to do my job. Just because I chose to be a human’s muse it doesn’t mean-”

“A  _ muse _ ?!” Crowley’s sunglasses fell to the ground when his hands grabbed Aziraphale’s shoulders and shook him. “Oh, please, Aziraphale! You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into! You have no idea what it means to be the muse of a human artist!” And please, if Heaven  _ and _ Hell hadn’t forsaken him, Aziraphale would not ask him what it meant. About the closeness, the intimacy. No muse he had ever heard of had not ended up naked in the arms of the one they decided to inspire. But how was he supposed to explain this to this oblivious angel?!

But to his surprise, Aziraphale smiled. He put his hands on Crowley’s and gently pushed them off his shoulders. Crowley shuddered when Aziraphale squeezed his hands before letting them go.

“I don’t know what it means? What a bold assumption.”

“You…do? You of all people? Of all angels?!”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale’s fingers found a loose strand of red hair that was hanging in Crowley’s face and pushed it behind his ear. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen the Sistine Chapel.”

“Uh…” He put his hand against his cheek where Aziraphale’s fingers had touched him. “You know, churches and chapels aren’t exactly my natural habitat.”

“A shame.” Aziraphale still smiled and Crowley didn’t like the hint of leniency at all. As if  _ he _ was the one with child-like naivety here. “Why don’t you make use of this wonderful opportunity and show a greater interest in books. I recommend one with many pictures. The library next to the town hall is exquisite, by the way. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

The bastard angel had the nerve to wink at him. After a conversation loaded with truths Crowley had never anticipated in all these years he had known - thought he had known - Aziraphale, he had the nerve to wink at him and turn around, leaving him alone to unpack the mess his head was.

“Aziraphale!” He didn’t know what he wanted to tell him. To stay? To listen? To stop speaking in riddles? To give him at least one damn hug and tell him he was happy to see him again after sixty years of silence?

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Aziraphale stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder. “While I’m here, please refer to me as Anthony.”

“Anthony? Wha-” This encounter was getting weirder and weirder, he wouldn’t be surprised if he was still asleep and caught in a surreal dream. “Anthony what? Anthony Ziraphale?!”

“Almost.” There it was, the laughter he had heard earlier but never directed at him, a bright, seductive sound caught between masculine and feminine. “Anthony Ezra Fell. But if we cross paths again while here, I’ll introduce you as an old friend and you can call me Anthony.”

“Oh, yeah, okay, fine. Whatever. Old friend. My old friend Anthony.” Crowley snorted, feeling himself smile despite all his confusion. Old friend. Not half where he wanted them to be but so, so much more hopeful in his ears than ‘fraternising’.

“Oh, and Crowley?” Aziraphale laughed, already continuing his way. Crowley perked up.

“What?”

“Your hair is lovely. But that suit… blue doesn’t become you.”

“Wha-” Crowley patted down his blue jacket. “How  _ dare  _ you! I look amazing, you… you bloody angel!”

But Aziraphale kept laughing. And walking. And within a moment, he had disappeared behind the door, leaving Crowley behind with his many questions and adding insult to injury on top.


	2. Chapter 2

Unbelievable. Sixty years of silence and this demon had the audacity! Aziraphale huffed, straightened himself, and put on a smile. The tiniest miracle turned the closed door in front of him into a mirror. He quickly rearranged his curls. A quick glance reassured him that his clothes were immaculate and he looked as presentable as he did when he and Felipe left the artist’s atelier to join the merrymaking downstairs. That preposterous demon! Yes, that was what Crowley was! Preposterous in his demonic ways that made him feel dishevelled when every hair was perfectly in place.

He snapped his fingers and the door was back where the mirror had been a second before. Another handful of seconds and Aziraphale was back amid the giddy crowd. He had been looking forward to tonight. Oh, he wasn’t blind to the fooleries of Felipe and his friends - most of them as shallow in friendship and in the choices of their joys. But shallow or not, joys they were, and he’d have been a lousy angel if he chided them for that. Being a human was hard and at one turn rewarding, at the next a curse. No, indeed, he couldn’t begrudge these people for the silly, fading things that brought smiles to their faces. If anything, the knowledge how unevenly useless knickknacks and moments just for the moment’s sake were distributed around the globe stirred his sense of justice but that was beyond these small souls’ control. And, despite all his miracles, beyond his.

“No, Madame, it’s a pleasure to meet  _ you! _ ” He returned the hug of a middle-aged opera singer. A cloud of heavy perfume engulfed him, a sweet, oriental scent that’d be heavenly if enjoyed in whiffs. He looked after her as she seemed to float with a delicacy that betrayed her age and form, dispensing more hugs and compliments. He liked her voice. She was one of the very few artists here tonight who were wise enough to bolster their talent with dedication. Although, as she was getting on in age, he sensed less favourable traits growing in here, not much different from those of Felipe. He sighed. Both artists had so much more beauty to offer to humanity but allowed it to wither away under the artificial sun called satisfaction. Bright, a sight to behold, but cold. Maybe, if he hurried to rekindle Felipe’s heated passion for his art, he’d have time for her, before his superiors burdened him with another task.

_ Burdened.  _ He rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue in disdain.  _ Honoured _ , certainly, he felt honoured. That was all that Crowley’s fault, just a few minutes with the serpent and-

Aziraphale sighed and collapsed on one of the high stools by the bar after it conveniently was deserted as soon as he approached. A nod and the bartender handed him a glass of red wine. Another nod and he left the bottle within his arms reach.

So, Crowley was back. Done pitying himself, Aziraphale assumed. What a coincidence. It wasn’t the first time their jobs led them to the same country, even city. But the same building, that was rare. He glanced at the ceiling. He wasn’t to question Her plans and he trusted Her with every corporal and celestial fibre of his being. But  _ if _ he would question Her and  _ if  _ he had the tiniest doubts, then he’d consider to ask Her if this could really have been coincidences. So many run-ins, over six millennia. Plan or coincidences, surely it wasn’t meant to amount to what happened this evening. Mockery and thinly veiled insults.

He took a sip of wine. Sweet, with just the right bite from the alcohol to keep it interesting. He twirled the glass between his fingers, the wine glowing like a liquid ruby in the lights. Such a nice colour, rich, bold. He’d been happy to see that Crowley had grown his hair out again.

Aziraphale downed the rest of the wine and slammed the glass on the table, willfully ignorant of the fact that the gesture was a lot more ridiculous with a long-stemmed wine glass than with a good, solid whiskey tumbler.

He wasn’t here tonight to think about Crowley, surely, he wasn’t even supposed to be friendly with him. He had a job to do and he intended to enjoy this party, just as he had planned, and that was exactly what he was going to do. As an angel, he was ecstatic to be surrounded by so many souls in need of a well-meaning blessing, it was about time he stopped wasting his time on that demon and began to mingle.

Hands resting on his legs, fingers tapping, he stared at the crowd.

He had been too harsh to Crowley, hadn’t he? Yes, yes, the way Crowley had talked to him was irritating and Aziraphale admitted he was more annoyed as it was appropriate for an angel by Crowley’s assumptions about innocence and purity. Did this fool think he had walked the earth blindly just because he was an angel? That he was open to the pleasures of food and intoxication but somehow missed one of humanity’s rawest delights?

“Ridiculous demon,” he muttered. He waved his hand and held a filled wine glass in his hand. He wasn’t worried that anyone would notice a little miracle here or there. The ostentatious party was so overfraught with colours and noise and pretence, he’d have to miracle a white elephant in the middle of the hall for the people to notice something supernatural was going on right next to them. Although, Aziraphale wasn’t confident that even such a trick would, well, do the trick, and not just be explained away as such. Humans were stubborn in their need to believe in whatever gave them a comfortable feeling of security.

He’d never tell him but secretly, sometimes, in very rare, quiet moments, Aziraphale thought humans needed an occasional mischief-maker like Crowley more than angelic blessings, or they’d shy away from their self-set limitations eternally.

The empty glass shattered in his hand. Crowley, again was this demon on his mind, and with him, the guilty feeling that Aziraphale didn’t exactly try to make their reunion more pleasant. If he didn’t know better, he’d assume the demon tempted him to treat Crowley like he did. But after a look at Crowley’s face, no doubts remained - his words had confused and aggravated Crowley. The snarky words had been Aziraphale's and he was honest enough with himself to admit he had experienced an undivine sense of glee while he spoke them.

Fascinating, how little it took for Crowley to be overwhelmed with jealousy.

Aziraphale let the tiny glass shards disappear before anyone got hurt and left the bar to wander aimlessly among the guests. He found it harder and harder to smile now that the thought had taken a hold of his mind.

If he were blind and deaf, he’d still feel it. Jealousy and the want and desire it was growing from. Aziraphale had deflected Crowley’s feelings for thousands of years but it was becoming harder with every passing decade. Crowley exposed him to the warmth of his heart and the heat of his blood every time they met, like the merciless sun burning a wanderer lost in the desert. And like an unprepared march through the desert, acknowledging these feelings was a dangerous endeavour, with demise lurking beneath every step, ready to strike.

It pained him to hurt Crowley but it had to be done, for his sake, like, in that desert, like…

The metaphor had run its course.

Aziraphale exchanged a few more trivial phrases with strangers, nodded, shook, or tilted his head at the right moments, and kept moving.

It was just like Crowley to leave it to him to handle their emotions. Demons and responsibility simply didn’t go well together. On the other hand, he was rather certain that Crowley had no idea of Aziraphale being aware of his feelings. Such irony! He almost laughed into a guest’s face after she told him about the recent loss of a close relative.

He, Aziraphale, being the naive one in Crowley’s eyes while that damned serpent was oblivious to the love he was radiating in Aziraphale’s presence. It’d be infuriating if it weren’t so amusing. In fact, it was as infuriating as it was amusing. Or was it more infuriating than anything? He rubbed his forehead. That idiot was breaking his last nerve. He was in desperate need for another drink.

“This has to be the tenderest smile I’ve seen on your face, my angel. You must tell its cause!” An arm slipped around his waist. Aziraphale’s head snapped around and took him all his willpower to act happy and charmed to see Felipe in a moment when he wanted to shout at him to never address him like that again.

“Oh, must I tell you?” he chirped.

“I demand it! How else am I supposed to ban it onto the canvas?” The elderly man laughed and Aziraphale calmed down. Behind all the pomp and glitz was still the youth who loved nothing more than combining the smell of paint and the noise of brushes on paper to reflections of what a heart could feel. This could be the deciding moment of inspiration Felipe needed to outgrow himself.

“In that case, I think I must indeed. But my dear Feli,” Aziraphale put his hand on Felipe’s and slipped out of the hug, “Can it wait until tomorrow? I fear I flirted too much with the wine tonight,” he lied.

“Are you all right, love?” Ah, the artist’s face had so much more depth and character if he didn’t wear that aloof smile. “Would you like us to go outside? Some fresh air might help and you could take a rest in the pool house, away from these noisy frivolities.”

“Just a little headache, it’ll be gone before dawn. Please, don’t worry on my behalf.” Aziraphale gestured at the people around them. A group of four was making their way through the crowd towards their generous host. “You entertain your lovely guests. But if you don’t mind, I’ll see myself upstairs and rest my eyes for a bit.”

“Your wish is my demand, dearest.” Felipe kissed his hand and walked with him to the stairs. Aziraphale shooed him away with a smile and a wink and to his relief, the artist finally turned his attention back to his acquaintances. He was a sweetheart but Aziraphale yearned for quiet and solitude. A walk outside would have been perfect for that, followed by a book in the cosy pool house but he didn’t want to risk running into Crowley.

From the windows on the upper floor, he had a great view of the beautiful garden. A lanky figure was pacing to and fro by the pool, his hair glowing in a deep red where the moonlight touched it. He kicked the ground, threw his hands towards the sky, stomped in circles.

Aziraphale smiled and turned away. Crowley was so many things but subtle wasn’t one of them.

* * *

Crowley stopped in his track and jerked around. The quietness around him had broken. It was only for a second. He didn’t sense the presence of a human nor, thank Satan, that of one of the other demons who liked to spring up at him whenever he wasn’t in the mood to deal with them. It was nothing loud like that. It was sly, distant, but undeniably directed at him.

Somebody watched him. Just for a short moment but he felt the gaze of eyes on his neck as if cold fingers touched him.

He had nothing to be worried about, whoever it was, he wasn’t close enough to hear him curse and mumble and what he was doing might strike a curious observer as odd but Crowley didn’t care about that. Being fed up by the angel’s antics wasn’t a crime, not in Heaven, Hell, or between. He simply hated being watched, that was all. Watching always came with judgment and he had enough of that for an infinite lifetime more than six thousand years ago.

He looked at the building. All windows of the ground floor were illuminated, the higher floors lay in darkness, except for one. He raised his eyes and squinted. He could have sworn he’d seen a shadow move away from the window.

“I know it’s you!” he yelled, shaking his fists at the window that had darkened again. “Having a good laugh at the stupid demon, ain’t ya? And now gone to have a good time with that geezer, pshaw! Fuck you all.” He turned around and stomped away but after just a few steps, his foot didn’t find the ground.

“Whoa! Not NOW, fuckers!” he hissed. The last thing he felt like doing was to be summoned to Beelzebub for another of their annoying lectures. But it wasn’t Hell that pulled him into its depth. 

He had forgotten about the pool.

* * *

“Rise and shine, handsome!”

“Jeanne, why?” Crowley groaned, shielding his eyes from an obnoxiously happy sun, which described the damned star as well as the young lady beaming at him, after torturing him by opening the curtains. “And why are you in such a good mood?” He grabbed his pillow, pressed it on his face and turned away from the window.

“That’s a secret I’ll tell you when you tell me why you were sleeping in wet clothes and stink of chlorine.” She crossed her arms, grinning at him.

“Secrets are good,” he mumbled through the pillow, then a thought hit him. Maybe the evening wasn’t a complete waste of his time. He put the pillow away and sat up. “But let me guess, you met  _ someone  _ at the party yesterday and brought her home?” The hope of a job soon done put a tiny part of him into a good mood. It wasn’t enough to push the frustration and bitterness away but he clung to it anyway.

Jeanne rolled her dark eyes. “Crowley, I’m engaged! I’d  _ never  _ take  _ someone  _ home with me after getting drunk together at a party.” He grinned.

“So she took you home. How long you’ve been back?” If she had just returned from her lover’s place, and judging from her happy face, the wedding with her dimwitted fiancé was as good as called off and he was free to enjoy himself freely in Italy until he was given a new assignment.

“Why did you fall into a pool?” she retorted. He groaned and fell back on his back. Right, his plan to enjoy himself as soon as he had time had thoroughly been ruined by that damn angel.

“It’s part of the Almighty’s ineffable plan, don’t question it.”

“If it’s His plan to have you jump into a pool fully clothed and go to bed without changing, I don’t think I want to hear the answer anyway.” She laughed and walked to the door. “Anyway, just came to tell you Roberto had friends over for one of his decadent breakfast affairs. You better hurry if you want to pilfer the remains, it’s definitely what I’m going to do now.”

“Enjoy yourself. I’m not hungry.” He grabbed his blanket and tried to pull it back over his shoulder. He was tired, he was cold, and his heart was hurting. At least his pride didn’t feel any pain anymore, he had killed it when he deemed himself of not worthy of sleeping in dry clothes. Or at least naked. The blanket didn’t help, it was damp and cold from his clothes and everything reeked of pool water. He tossed it away and curled up. As soon as Jeanne was gone and he had pitied himself a little more, he’d stand up and get the hottest shower his body could handle.

“Suit yourself.” She turned to leave but before she closed the door behind her, Crowley sat up again. Something she said just a moment ago was sticking to his mind, something about not wanting to hear the answer. A sentiment he thoroughly felt but fuck it, he wanted answers if he ever wanted to enjoy another peaceful hour of sleep!

“Wait! Quick question. Is there, uh, how far is-” His eyes rolled up as if they wanted to help him search his memory. “The town hall! Library! That was it!”

“Where the hell is that coming from?” She raised a surprised eyebrow but dismissed her question with a wave of her hand. “Never mind, I feel I’m not getting the whole story today anyway. There’s indeed a library next to the town hall. Very popular among scholars, second-best after the university’s. You better get a taxi, though, walking would take you an hour.”

“Excellent, thanks.” He threw his legs over the edge of the bed and jumped up. He pulled off his still moist jacket and tossed it to the floor with a face of disgust.

“Okay, I don’t need to see that. I’m gonna leave right now. Good luck on your quest for love.” She waved and quickly turned around when he unbuttoned his shirt.

“Wait, what, how do you- it has nothing to do with  _ that!”  _ He spat out the last word like it was a rotten piece of meat that dared to touch his tongue.

“It always has, darling.” She giggled, she sighed, and she disappeared.

The biggest lie humanity told itself was that they haven’t invented time travel yet. Crowley pushed the heavy oak door open and he sensed the forces of time and space shifting around him. The city library was stretching over two floors with shelves rising to the ceiling but that wasn’t the reason. Big or small, stepping into any library had always had the same effect on him. While he appreciated books as the source of information they could pose, he wasn’t crazy about them and rarely picked one up if he didn't require knowledge. Unlike another person he knew. But that didn’t matter either.

He pitied the humans. They created something so fascinating but their senses were too limited to know it. There were humans similar obsessed with books like Aziraphale, some never grew tired of studying, others got drunk on the scent of old books like Crowley would on a few good drinks. They felt  _ something  _ but they weren’t aware that if untamed streams of knowledge, imagination, and craft were condensed, banned to paper, and stored in a small enclosure, it did things to reality. Poor, pathetic, ignorant humans.

Or maybe not so poor after all. As he walked between the shelves, the ground seemed to waver under his feet. He began to feel dizzy. Hushed conversations and other sounds were accompanied by a faint sizzling noise as if the air carrying them wrapped them in static. His skin was tingling and he quickened his steps. That was another reason why he didn’t find pleasure in spending more time than necessary in libraries, either his demonic nature didn’t respond well to them or he was simply allergic to their magic.

“Can I help you, Sir?” a quiet voice asked. It was astonishingly youthful, given the wrinkled face it came from but he assumed it was damned to whisper even if the old man shouted as loud as he could.

“Uh, yeah, I mean, illustrations,” he managed to say, wiping his forehead, but despite feeling like he was drenched in cold sweat, his skin was dry. “Sistine Chapel!” he finally almost shouted. If the man was disturbed by Crowley’s weird manners, he didn’t show it. He nodded solemnly and guided him through the corridors until they reached one with a large, yellowed sign nailed to the first shelf.  _ Local History and Culture II _

“Try here, under M, or two rows down, under S. Come to my desk if you need further assistance.” Without a bow or any other form of ceremony, the man turned around and left Crowley alone. He exhaled slowly. Nobody else was in this section and with the assistant gone, a pleasant silence surrounded him. His hands and face were still prickling as they were exposed to the air but it was bearable.

He browsed the shelves until he found the ones labelled with a large M. Among several volumes telling about the life and art of Michaelangelo, he finally found a big one with  _ Sistine Chapel  _ written on its back and cover. There had been others but those were small, the typical size somebody would pick to learn about the history and process of its creation. Crowley couldn’t care less about that.

Colour photography was becoming more and more popular lately but the book he slammed on an empty desk was at least a decade old and thus, probably worth a fortune. He flipped through the pages like through a penny dreadful. He stopped. A double-page showed a familiar scene but yet, the artist got it so, so wrong. He would know, he was there when Adam and Eve shared the fateful fruit. A nice couple, absolutely lovely people and easy on the eye and they were definitely not light-skinned and with fair hair.

Adam also didn’t have full tights, dreamy blue eyes, and a round face framed by blond, almost white curls. Full, curvy buttocks to die for.

Crowley browsed a few more pages.

The creation.

Adam and Eve leaving Eden.

Noah.

This was a picture book of some of the most important events in the Old Testament and his face was everywhere.

He was among men. Cherubs. Every flaxen-haired woman was wearing Aziraphale’s face, had his full body, with a pair of breasts slapped on that looked so out of place and unworthy of the painter’s skill, he’d probably just wanted to continue painting Aziraphale.

Crowley flopped on a chair, arms dangling by his side, the long legs laying in odd angles on top of each other as if somebody had just thrown them carelessly under the desk.

It was the angel, there was no doubt. He’d recognize that face anywhere. It would be a shame if he couldn’t after six thousand years but time wasn’t the issue. If they met again in one hundred years and if it were the first time since their encounter in Eden, he’d still recognize him. But it wouldn’t be the first encounter, they had crossed path countless times, spent many, many hours in each other’s company. The point was, he had never seen so much as a bare ankle or wrist of the angel.

And here he was, in all his divine beauty, banned to the ceiling of a damn church of all places, a reflection of what Aziraphale allowed a mere human to see. Something he had denied Crowley and would continue to do with a scoff.

Meanwhile, humans had seen him. Probably touched him. Unaware of who was standing in front of them and therefore denying him the awe and reverie a celestial being deserved.

Crowley’s face was hot. He wanted  _ that.  _ All  _ that. _ But as a demon… Aziraphale wouldn’t allow it. It was not fair, dammit! He was met with scorn if he dared to call Aziraphale a friend but together with humans, he created something as powerful as these paintings.

He stood up, slammed the book shut, and emerged from between the shelves.

“Oi!” he called, the static his voice created tingling in his ears. “Where’s the damn chapel?”

The short man appeared, a finger on his tightly closed lips, and gestured him angrily to follow him to his desk.

A few minutes later, Crowley returned to a nice and smooth reality, without any wraps and folds and sizzling atmosphere. He clutched the flyer with tourist information to his chest and called for a taxi.

He let the driver chat away, grunted here and there in response, and stared out of the window. It was past noon and the tables in front of the small cafés and bistros were filled with people having a cosy lunch in the sunshine. He was about to do something stupid. He knew the consequences but he didn’t care.

He had to know how powerful an inspiration Aziraphale had been and the hours passing until it was dark weren’t enough to change Crowley’s mind.


	3. Chapter 3

Every being with a sense of self was aware of the flexibility of time, depending on whether they were enjoying themselves, suffering, or worse, bored. It was the humans who decided time had to be a measurable concept and forced The Impalpable of Existing and Then Not into the confines of a countable system. It worked, it made sense, and like with so many ingeniously simple, working ideas, it worsened the actual experience.

Crowley, who certainly didn’t lack a sense of self, might have had a hand in inventing pocket-sized time measuring devices affordable for the masses that would be worn on almost every wrist less than a century later. Back then, he thought it was a good idea. Inconspicuous on the outside while containing the power to push the most impatient species on the planet over the line to become the most neurotic.

It was unfortunate that he hadn’t considered that once clocks and watches became a common thing, he wouldn’t be able to escape them either.

He fumbled with the leather wristband, turning the face of his watch to the downside of his wrist so he wouldn’t see it if he looked at it again. It worked until he caught himself staring at the arm of a tourist sitting at the table next to him. Just when he turned his head away, the nearby tower clock stroke four times.

He grunted and slammed a few bills to cover his coffee and a tip for the waiter on the table. Hands in his pockets, he circled the square stretching in front of his destination. He had heard of the Sistine Chapel when it was built but he hadn’t bothered to check what the fuss was about in person. He had been considered a lesser demon by his direct supervisors for a long time when the 16th century rolled around. Slightly more useful than the cannon fodder but too unimportant to muck with larger projects from the other side. Jobs like that went to the Dukes of Hell, like Hastur. If Hastur was in charge of Vatican City it explained why Heaven could still register the existence of the chapel as a flawless success.

Crowley could pull a few strings, being on agreeable terms with the big boss, and demand more acknowledgement and involvement, but why would he? He’d be an idiot if he traded the perks of his current position - lots of free time, travel, creative freedom, choice of companionship - for more meetings in that overcrowded dumpster that was Hell’s back office and management. And more paperwork. Only a fool would voluntarily step up to embrace more bureaucracy. Which was why Crowley generously stepped out of the way when Hastur pushed him aside during every evaluation conference.

He looked over his shoulder. Somebody was watching him. A group of teenagers, probably on a school trip, was sitting a few feet away from where he was standing. Several heads guiltily looked back at their teacher when they noticed his glare.

Crowley pulled a face and moved his fingers in his pocket. A small flock of doves came out of nowhere and nose-dived at the poor teacher, clucking and cooing and deeply enamoured with the helpless human, much to the amusement of his class.

For the tenth time, he stopped in front of the stairs leading up to the chapel’s entrance. For every tourist exiting, five more seemed to walk inside. From his position, it looked dark behind the tall, open doors. Like gigantic mouths between columns, they patiently waited for their prey to willingly enter the ancient stomach. What was a fascinating tourist attraction or a monument of faith to the humans filled him with a sense of dread and foreboding.

Every stone, every ornament seemed to scream that he didn’t belong and that he’d regret coming closer.

Crowley remained unimpressed by the holy threats. They were old and had lost their bite centuries ago. While stepping on sacred ground wasn’t a walk in the park for a demon, nothing serious would happen to him.

He could easily tag himself to a group of tourists and pretend to be one of them, hell, he could go just by himself, it wasn’t like one of the archangels was getting a wrinkle in their robes by doing actual groundwork and guarding their precious chapel.

He could even pretend the damn holy floor wasn’t burning his feet. For a bit.

But he refused to give up his dignity by letting the humans see him gaping at an old, dusty ceiling like a bloody tourist. He had a reputation to maintain.

He checked his watch. Less than fifteen minutes had passed. Still, more than one and a half hours left until six when the building closed for business. Add another hour until the staff went home. Then he had to wait until nightfall. He could sneak past the human guards, by melting into the shadows or slithering under a door as a snake. But where was the fun in that? No, what he was about to do required an appropriate set-up. It was his human-like heart and stomach that were hurting after the recent revelations when they had no business to hurt. Thus, he had to face the truth in his human form. It only seemed proper.

That he could use the extra time to prepare his mind was a side effect and not planned, and despite not being a creature of faith, he actually believed this.

Nothing of this was important anyway. So what if this angel shared the sheets with a human here and there? That wasn’t any of Crowley’s business. Waiting for hours outside a chapel on a sunny day to get his feet burnt at night? No big deal, he liked a challenge, and if he squinted, it wasn’t much different from… what did humans call it again… meditation, right! This was all about his inquisitive nature - and there wasn’t anything wrong with gaining knowledge! - and to demonstrate his countenance, which was, in a way, another form of meditation.

It certainly did not have anything to do with jealousy, oh, no, the angel thought he had got him good but Aziraphale couldn’t have been more wrong!

Crowley, jealous! Ridiculous! Jealousy was one of those things that only befell others, especially humans. Why, hadn’t he often used it as a tool to create discord? Most successfully, of course. He was definitely not on a quest to feed an inferior emotion until his heart broke for good. Dammit, it wasn’t even a real heart, it was decoration! Which just happened to feel very, very real at times. Painfully so.

Four more minutes had passed. Almost nothing but too long for a tall man to stand in one place and to hiss at a building while his hair glowed like fire in the afternoon sun. He walked away from the steps, whistling to himself.

He contemplated trying another café but he was growing tired of watching the same, repetitive scenery for hours. Now that he was thinking about it, he was tired.

Crowley left the plaza and disappeared into a nearby alley. It was a decent area and this place wasn’t as shabby and disgusting as it would be described in a book but even the cleanest narrow street could only offer limited comfort between trash cans and boxes. He spotted a second-floor window sill with its blinds shut. That should be uninteresting enough for the roaming stray cats. Seconds later, a small, black snake coiled up between two flower pots and drifted towards distorted dreams.

He woke up past ten at night. He forgot his nightmare immediately but a dull pain lingered. It was different from the fury or fear that followed him into the real world after his usual nightmares. He felt like he lost something he never had but that was of immense importance.

The plaza was empty. A few stragglers were singing songs written by too much wine somewhere down a street, accompanied by the serenade of lovestruck cats. There was something about a full moon that always drove the felines crazy. On any other night he’d take the opportunity to infect a human or two with the same moon madness, but he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted.

It was close to midnight when he slipped through a crack in a side entrance, a door that a security guard conveniently forgot to close properly. A second minor miracle convinced the same guard and his co-workers that it was one of those boring, uneventful nights that needed a bit of fun in the form of cards. If Crowley kept his visit under an hour, his influence would remain too insignificant for the paper pushers in Hell to notice.

“Fuck!” He bared his teeth and hissed with every step. There were no boots sturdy enough to protect his soles from the consequences of walking on consecrated ground. It was like walking on scorching hot, sharp blades. Smoke spiralled from his fingers after he touched the door to close it behind him. It had been almost two centuries since his duties led him into a holy sanctuary and the pain was worse than he remembered. A little voice in his head told him to get out, it wasn’t worth it, he had seen what he needed to see in the library, it was enough. But this would hardly be the day he started to listen to common sense!

Common sense was a waste of potential. Common sense would have forbidden Eve from taking the apple from the serpent and look what humanity had accomplished since! Jazz, the power to turn grain into high spirits, fucking buildings that lasted centuries and worshipped the assholes that wanted to lock up humanity in a fucking garden for fucking eternity.

Oh, and human artists painting naked angels, of course! How could he forget about that? Yeah, take that, Heaven, nothing of this would have happened if he hadn’t smooth-talked Eve into biting into that damn apple!

He found the heart of the chapel without any detours. By the time he walked towards the altar, Crowley’s feet felt raw. Well, at least he learned something new. Small country churches weren’t fun but the large, old chapels stuffed to the brim with history and symbolism were major assholes. He pushed the fear of lasting damage out of his mind. His socks began to feel sticky but it would take more than a few bleeding sores to do him in.

Crowley raised his head. He saw the outline of the ceiling but the dimmed lights weren’t bright enough to illuminate the paintings. His sunglasses weren’t improving the situation but this time he listened to the voice of reason when it warned him to leave them where they were.

He lifted his hand, ready to snap his fingers, but he lowered it again.

His time on earth was measurable. But the area of growth, decay, and regrowth hadn’t begun before earth and it was impossible to say how much time had passed between his fall and Eden. Or the timespan between his fall and the last time he created light. He hadn’t lived, he existed. Existed in the dense centre of equilibrium without future and past. Everything had been fleeting through his fingers and persisted for eternity at the same time.

It had been too long.

He hadn’t tried since.

Falling hadn’t come with an instruction manual. One moment he had been an angel, the next he wasn’t. There were rules for demons, obnoxiously many of them. Half covered dealing with angels, although Crowley suspected they were nothing but violent fantasies written by demons to deal with their grudges and regrets during their downtime.

Heaven, on the other hand, didn’t have a rulebook for demons or for angels so they would know what to do in case of falling. There was nothing but a big, metaphorical “Demons, do not trespass” sign for his kind.

Nothing about the powers he once possessed. Still possessed, in fact. It wasn’t so much that he gained something new, aside from the whole turning-into-a-snake-at-will thing. It was the use of the powers that changed, not the powers themselves. After all, letting a flower wither was the same as letting it grow, just a little faster and without stopping while it looked its best. Throwing a door in someone’s face from across the room was the same as opening it and closing it with comedic timing. Door. Movement. In itself, there was neither good nor evil in that.

No, it was him who had changed, partly by force, mostly by choice. Not the powers he was capable of.

Light, however…

Sources of light, like fire, sure. Damn, he had flipped countless light switches without any destructive effects.

Light by itself, that was different. Crowley stared at his fingers. Nobody ever said he wasn’t supposed to. He had no reason to assume he wasn’t able to. He hadn’t even made the conscious decision to never do it again. It was just… it smelled just so disgustingly sacred, that’s what! And it was bullshit at the same time! Light as the embodiment of pure goodness was overrated, he had that figured out while he was still an angel. Life and stars needed darkness to shine. By sheer logic, light wasn’t any more sacred or pure by nature than fire or water.

Crowley was a demon well-capable of recognizing logic when he saw it and he took immense pleasure in pointing out when others didn’t see it. Especially when Aziraphale explained to him one of the Almighty’s great ideas. It was a practical tool; it wasn’t something he felt.

He clenched his hands. There was nothing holy about the nature of light but he was a demon. He shouldn’t create light. Just like he shouldn’t feel compassion. Or heartache. Or this damn jealousy.

“What the fuck am I doing here?” His nails cut painfully in his palm. “I should be out there. Having a drink and screwing over some humans. Fuck, I should just screw some of them. Instead of…” He let out a long hiss. His feet felt like somebody was skinning them. The pain was creeping up his ankles. The air stank of stale prayers and was beginning to clog his airways.

“Aziraphale!” he shouted at the ceiling. “This is all your fault, you damn angel! Sacred ground. Sacred light, pshaw! Worthless junk, that’s what it is, when any demon can use it as they please!” His hand cut through the air as if he wanted to punch the archangels themselves. His fingers unfurled and the tiniest seed of light glimmered his palms.

A wave with his hand and like a firefly, the tiny orb of light floated towards the ceiling. With every inch it rose, it grew in size and speed.

It was large enough to hide a full-grown human when it touched the ceiling and shattered into a million glowing shards. They sparkled in a cold, white light like newborn stars, illuminating the chapel and its famous ceiling as their shapes faded.

Crowley recognized the scenes at once. Adam and Eve, who had nothing in common with the pair Crowley remembered only too vividly from his days in Eden. And yet, he looked at a familiar face. The roundish cheeks, the distinct nose, the almost white curls.

He closed his eyes, jerked his head around, and opened them again. He almost laughed. The humans’ interpretation of God always had that effect on him. The creation of Adam, ah, yes, a classic and couldn’t be further from the facts. Aside from certain bare ones, dressed up as cherubs. He hadn’t seen Aziraphale naked but he had stolen enough glances to recognize his sweet, round ass anywhere, clothed or not. Another cherub had the angel’s face and thighs.

Crowley clenched his jaw, his hands forming fists. That damn painter had known what he was doing. The work was excellent and he had captured reality so well, the skin of the figures looked as though they were warm and soft to the touch. Especially every figure with the face of his angel. And he, Crowley, was able to see what he had wanted to see for more centuries than he cared to count, through the eyes of another man. A dead man. Dead and dust. Humans were ridiculous in their persistence as a species and in the fragility of the individual. The damn paint of that old pervert outlived him. What kind of magic had that fragile creature possessed to charm that uptight angel into shedding his clothes for him? Crowley wished he could ask him. And punch his face.

Well, truth was, there were possibilities to do exactly that. But even if he were one of the higher demons with the right connections to check the up- and the downstairs, finding someone who had died such a long time ago would create a massive amount of paperwork. And questions. And more paperwork and questions after the punch.

“’Tis not like I couldn’t ask someone else about it,” he muttered, turning slowly around himself as he walked down the aisle. His feet were beyond pain and the burning sensation was eating away at his legs. His lungs hurt. Even when he didn’t breathe, the sacred stink of this heaven hole forced its way through his airways. “What would you tell me, Aziraphale, eh? That it’s just a job?” He stretched his arms, spinning. “That it’s not sinful because it was for a greater good? Does Gabriel know how this miracle came to be?” He flinched at the bitterness of his own laughter that echoed through the chapel.

He came to a sudden stop.

He faced the Last Judgment.

The way humans envisioned their godly end might as well have been the portray of an orgy. It was almost comical but Crowley didn’t feel like laughing.

Half- and fully naked bodies were abundant and every single one with blond hair showed the same features. Of the face, the curves of his arms and waist, the alluring shapes of his thighs and ass. And oh, there were many blond lads in this painting. All the same in different poses and state of undress. Even some of the women looked like they’d been inspired by the same model. Breasts had been attached to their chests, almost unlovingly so. No, there was no mistake. The love and devotion of the artist were directed at one being only. 

Crowley sank to his knees, the invisible fire of the sacred ground burning through his pants and clawing into his legs.

His heartbeat drummed inside his head and the painting vanished in front of his now fully yellow eyes. The laughter that messed with the beat of his heart came from far away, the five centuries between its existence and now had worn it thin. Bright, coy, playful. The silhouette of a man appeared before him. Time had eaten away most of the memories of this place and was already nibbling on the shape’s contours. There would be nothing left to see or hear in a handful of centuries but the feelings lingered, as strong as if it had only been a day. And they resonated with Crowley so strongly, it might as well have been his heart that was beating faster.

Blood warming the cheeks. Wistfulness carefully hidden behind the impossibly heavy curtains of jest, gratefulness for what, a smile? A gesture? And longing. Oh, the longing.

The shapes and voices moved away, taking the feelings with them, as the blurred memories continued their stroll.

Crowley had seen enough through the eyes of a dead man hopelessly in love with a muse he feared would never be truly his. Crowley bit his lip to push back tears of anger. He understood him. Understood that one mortal man and what had given him the vision, strength, and passion to create a masterpiece worthy of legends in Hell and Heaven for millennia after this reality would have come to its inevitable end.

He understood and hated him at the same time. He had loved the angel with the same passion since Earth was turning and what had he to show for it? Certainly, no art that outlived generations. No monuments, no sonata, and aside from a few dozens of crumpled sheets of paper that he turned into ashes before they hit the floor, not even poetry.

It was no wonder that…

He winced as he dropped to the ground.

No wonder that…

Lying on his back, he stared at the ceiling. The light was losing its strength and slowly, the shadows of the night crawled back to their rightful places.

No wonder that someone like him had never been worthy of the affection of the angel.

He exhaled slowly, eyes staring into the darkness, and waited in vain for the pain seeping into his back to become stronger than the one burning his heart.


	4. Chapter 4

Angels weren’t supposed to get tired. They also weren’t supposed to delight in red wine, prettily arranged foods that got the more expensive the smaller theylooked on the plate, or to watch dancing feet with jealousy. 

Aziraphale had no intention of forgoing anything from this list in the future and if he felt tired, he felt tired, dammit. No literal damnation, of course, may the Almighty forgive him the occasional use of rude language. He didn’t worry too much. She had to be aware of its freeing effect when She created it and slipped it to the humans. He didn’t get in trouble for desiring a few moments for himself to catch his breath and the occasional indulgence and he trusted Her and Her common sense too much to expect Her to suddenly care when he thought of a curse word every other decade. 

Yes, the short moment of introspection came to a satisfying closure. He wasn’t cited to appear in front of his superiors and he didn’t feel one bit guilty.

“Let’s see…” He folded his hands, rubbing his palms together. He had moved an armchair to the fireside of the pool house which, truth be told, was more of a small house, a cottage even, anyway. In a very unheavenly moment, he had taken advantage of Felipe’s offer to let him, Aziraphale, furnish the two rooms of the surprisingly empty little building. He didn’t care much about the architectural crimes done to the outside appearance. However, he had a few ideas for the living room and the bedroom. 

Two armchairs and a coffee table stood on a soft, burgundy carpet. The fireplace received a makeover. Brick stones in earthen colours were a bit rustic, especially for the owner’s usual taste, but they looked better with the furniture. The walls were hidden behind bookshelves, aside from a small cabinet holding plates and teacups thin as silk. One empty spot was usually reserved for a large, white ceramic mug that was now standing on a side table next to one of the armchairs. 

Aziraphale took a teapot from a small stove that he had somehow managed to shove between the shelves and cabinets and poured a beautiful red tea into his favourite mug. A sweet scent of flowers and almonds filled the room. He picked a book from one of the shelves after putting the pot back on the stove and made himself comfortable in one of the chairs. He had covered it with a large woollen blanket. It’s brown and red tartan pattern would have been out of place in all of Italy but it was an absolutely vital accessory to complete what had become Aziraphale’s private living room over the last few weeks. 

He took a sip of his tea and sighed through his happy smile. He opened the book where he last left and slowly, his mind became one with the story. It was windy outside, not enough for a comfy storm, but enough to get cosy. There had been a light rain when he excused himself from another of Felipe’s parties. Now, it was pouring. The rain drumming on the roof enhanced the tragic scene in Aziraphale’s book and oh, did he wish it was one of the colder seasons. He was looking forward to the reunion of the characters and it would be so much more beautiful if there was a cold thunderstorm outside. He could switch from tea to cocoa to honour the moment, or even light a small fire. 

He put the book on his lap, his fingers tapping on the cover. Maybe a tiny little miracle, just for an hour or so, that wouldn’t hurt anyone, would it?

He snapped his fingers. Thunder rolled. The storm whipped the rain against the walls, shutters rattling under the force. With a satisfied smile he turned to the still cold fireplace, but cold it would be no more! He raised his hand for another miracle when a loud noise behind him made him jump to his feet.

Aziraphale turned around. How peculiar, he had only meant to conjure a medium storm. On the gentler side. Just… a slightly more intense one than a small one, really. Nothing that should be strong enough to hurl the garden chairs around or, Almighty beware, do harm to the poor rose bushes. 

Well, he’d undo the mess tomorrow. It’d be a shame to waste the good atmosphere for cleaning when a perfectly touching moment was about to happen in his book. He picked it up and returned to his chair, drinking from his mug with determination. 

He almost spewed out his tea when there was another noise, one that sounded distinctly closer to a knock. A pathetic, weak knock, but a knock nonetheless. A moan from the other side of the door had him out of his chair and comfy mood for good. It was weaker than the knock, as pathetic, entirely inhuman, and Aziraphale swore he heard it saying his name.

“Crowley?!” He tossed the book aside and rushed the few steps across the carpet to tear the door open. 

“Aziraphale?” Crowley had slumped down against the door frame, an almost empty wine bottle in his hand. He lifted it towards the sky and waved it at the dark sky, looking up at Aziraphale. “W-wassat you?”

“Oh, by all- Crowley, dear, are you drunk?” Aziraphale wrinkled his nose as he got a hold of Crowley’s arm to pull him up. Crowley staggered and leaned against Aziraphale for balance. Aziraphale rolled his eyes when the wave of alcohol hit him. Yes, the bottle that was now rolling over the carpet, spilling its last sips, certainly wasn’t Crowley’s first this evening. 

“Jussstadrink, I swear! Now you are jealous, right?” Crowley chuckled while Aziraphale dragged him inside, a task that would be a lot easier if Crowley moved his feet.

“I hate to be blunt, my dear, but there’s nothing about your current state to be jealous about.” He shuddered. Crowley’s clothes and hair were soaked and the water was seeping through Aziraphale’s sweater where they had touched. “How is this even possible?” he muttered and dropped Crowley on the armchair by the fireside. He’d be lying if he claimed it didn’t annoy him at all that instead of himself enjoying a cosy evening in it, it was now occupied by a dripping, drunk demon. “It wasn’t raining that hard.” 

“Pool.” Crowley waved vaguely at the door, already sliding half-way off the chair. “Always in the way.” Aziraphale sighed and rubbed his forehead. 

“And I thought that smell came from the cheap wine.” It wasn’t intended to be a joke but Crowley was hollering and slapping his knee anyway.

“Good one, angel, good one.” He snickered and pointed at Aziraphale. “’Specially since I’m the funny one. But that’s so Aziraphale, right? Or should I say, Mr Anthony Fell? Always full of surprises. Yeah, that’s my angel! I need more wine!” His head flopped to the side and he smiled at Aziraphale’s mug. He reached for it but Aziraphale took it away before he could lift it up and turn the room - and himself - into even more of a mess. 

“Well then, Crowley.” He sat down on the armrest of the second chair. Crowley had a habit of rambling when drunk and usually, it didn’t matter, as long as Crowley himself could make sense of it. But Aziraphale had caught the bitterness behind the laughter and it worried him. 

“I don’t think you came here for us to share a drink together.” He spoke gently and smiled at him, hoping a bit of friendliness would encourage the demon to open up about his troubles to an angel. “What’s going on? How can I help you?” 

Crowley stopped laughing but he still smiled. He pulled himself up to sit straight and leaned forward. Wet hair fell over his sunglasses and shoulders. He lifted his hand and closed it around Aziraphale’s wrist. The angel shivered. Crowley’s fingers were cold as ice. 

“You.” 

Aziraphale shook his head and gave him a puzzled look. “I’m not sure I understand?” The quickened beat of his heart called him a liar; he understood exactly which direction any answer would go and it was Aziraphale’s duty to nip it in the bud. 

“Came to share you. To tell you to share you. With me!” With his free hand, Crowley repeatedly pointed back and forth between them. “Come on, angel, you know what I mean!” 

“I’m afraid I do.” Aziraphale sighed. Crowley was still holding his wrist. Aziraphale put his hand over the cold fingers. “And you know very well that’s a no from me. Crowley, we’re-”

“You don’t even ask why I say this? After showing up on your doorstep, like this?” Crowley let go of Aziraphale and pulled his hand away. He spread his arms and pointed at himself. 

“Drunk and pathetic?” 

“Nooo, desperate and…uh…toxincally enhanced!” 

Aziraphale frowned. “Is that even a word?” 

“It should be.” Crowley shrugged. Suddenly, he grimaced and hissed, “Stop trying to distract me! I know what you did, angel! No way he could paint you like that if you guys didn’t have a good old roll in the hay!”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale put a hand on his chest. Things were suddenly falling into place and he could only blame himself. He knew exactly what Crowley was talking about and it was he who had given him the instructions. One moment of lost composure, one moment of vanity, and it was coming right back to him. He wasn’t ashamed and he didn’t regret anything. And yes, he absolutely had enough of being underestimated by Crowley in that certain regard. But he should have known what this realization would do to Crowley if confronted with it so bluntly. The demon was suddenly grinning from one ear to the other, which was not a good sign.

“I saw you naked,” he said with an air of triumph. 

“You and everyone who ever went to an art museum or opened an art book. Or art history. Or European history. Or-” Crowley held up a hand. Aziraphale stopped.

“My point. This. Generations have seen your butt. You slept with that guy and others. But-” the smile disappeared from his face. Aziraphale could feel the sadness of his eyes with Crowley’s stupid sunglasses between them and it pulled at the strings of his heart. 

“I haven’t. I don’t understand.” He sat there with his back hunched, kneading his hands between his legs, his head turned away from Aziraphale. “It was easier to want you and not have you when I believed nobody did. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind that they did…you did…” He paused, the uncomfortable silence sending a shudder down Aziraphale’s spine. He knew what Crowley was going to say and he could easily stop this nonsense right now. This dangerous nonsense. 

“Crowley…”

“It’s because I’m a demon, isn’t it?” Crowley turned his gaze back at him. “I don’t expect big feelings for me from you, Aziraphale. But an angel who can feel lust and do it with mortals but not… that hurts, angel.” 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale said firmly, slammed his flat hands on his legs, and stood up. “I’ll not have you ruin my free evening with this fiddle-faddle! You’re right, you being a demon makes friendship complicated. And you know very well why I have to say it like that.” 

“But…!”

“I have some dry, clean clothes in the bedroom.” Aziraphale talked over him and opened the door to the bedroom. “Pick whatever you need for the night and sleep. The Almighty knows you need a good rest.” 

Crowley stared at him. His feet and fingers twitched but he didn’t stand up. If Aziraphale didn’t know better he’d assume Crowley had finally succumbed to the intoxication and fallen asleep. His empty expression was unnerving and Aziraphale began to feel stupid, standing there, holding the door open with one hand, gesturing at the room behind with the other.

“Hey, angel.” 

It would get worse from here. Aziraphale felt it. The silence between them was bothersome and painful but it couldn’t get them killed. A determined twitch of the corner of Crowley’s mouth distorted the cold indifference.

“I l-”

Aziraphale’s heart froze and at the same time, it threatened to burst under a sudden wave of heat burning through his veins. It was only a few steps but in his entire existence, he had never moved so fast. 

“Will you stay quiet, you insane fool!” He stood between Crowley’s legs and pressed his hand of the demon’s mouth. Crowley hissed against his palm. 

“You must not say it. You will not be destroyed because of a silly word. I forbid it. You hear me, you dumb demon? I forbid it!” Aziraphale grunted but then, his features grew softer. Crowley’s lips were cold to his palm. He expected protests and struggling, but not a muscle twitched. Aziraphale felt the tension that had taken a hold of Crowley’s body. Aziraphale’s heart ached. 

“I shouldn’t call you dumb, I’m sorry.” Yet another thing he could add to his things-an-angel-shouldn’t-do list, apologizing to a demon. He had a nagging suspicion he wasn’t done with that list tonight when he, in spite of himself, reached for Crowley’s face and removed his sunglasses. The demon’s eyes widened and Aziraphale caught the last white corners as they turned yellow. He instantly regretted taking the glasses away. They had shielded him as much as Crowley, who hadn’t lied when he said he was desperate. But despair wasn’t the only thing Aziraphale saw. There was sadness and frustration, but worse was the glimpses of passion and hope. So small, yet so intense. 

“I’ll remove my hand. But please, promise me you won’t say it again. And that you’ll be a good demon and go to bed.” He didn’t wait for Crowley to grunt or not because if he didn’t, he’d have a problem and a very boring night ahead of him. He had to trust that Crowley, drunk and desperate or not, understood that this wasn’t a joking matter. Fortunately, Crowley seemed to understand indeed, maybe a bit too well. He remained quiet but he also still wouldn’t move. 

Aziraphale shook his head and pushed the strands of wet hair out of Crowley’s face. He was sorry. He hated to hurt Crowley; he wasn’t happy about the situation either. Crowley could be an aggravating pest and there had been enough moments in the past when Aziraphale wanted to hurl him into the sun, but he valued their friendship and Crowley wasn’t the only one who had mused over the maybe’s and what could be’s and whatever this strange, tantalizing bond was that had started to grow between them…when was it exactly? 

These and many other thoughts busied his mind that might feed Crowley’s hope or despair if he said them aloud, and either outcome was bound to end in pain. 

So Aziraphale said nothing as he began to unbutton Crowley’s shirt. His fingers brushed over cold skin. Aziraphale pulled a face and muttered, “Good thing you aren’t human. You’d die of pneumonia before the night is over.” 

“And you?”

Aziraphale’s fingers paused and he looked up at him in confusion. 

“I what? I was not taking a bath in the middle of the night during a storm.” Aziraphale would take the truth about the storm’s origin with him into his grave, figuratively. 

“Do you, you know. Feel like that. About me.” 

Aziraphale hid a smile. Such a bold question asked with such a defiant yet shy voice.

“You know I can’t say it, Crowley.” 

“Because you fear eternal damnation or because there’s nothing I can do to make you-”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale put his hands on the demon’s bony shoulders. “I’ll say this just once and then I want to hear no more about it. You are very aware of the fact that if one of us spoke of such an outrageous thing between a demon and an angel and it wasn’t a lie, it’d become a truth the moment the word leaves our mouths. That’s not something we could ever hide from our superiors and you are aware of what they’d do to us. That’s why we must not speak it. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Aziraphale looked into Crowley’s eyes, committing another sin by silently praying for the demon to listen to him. The despair was still there but it changed as other emotions dared to grow. Finally, to Aziraphale’s endless relief, Crowley nodded. 

“Thank you,” he sighed, the tension he wasn’t aware of until now rolling off his shoulders. His hands moved back to Crowley’s shirt.

“Can I have one night?”

“No.” Aziraphale’s fingers trembled. He was chewing his tongue. No was the only answer but it was so rare to hear Crowley’s voice like this. Free from his usual mockery and disdain for Heaven and Hell and everything between. Low instead, almost pleading, a breathless whisper full of hope and want. He stared at his hands. He had opened most of Crowley’s shirt and now they were resting on Crowley’s flat stomach. 

Crowley’s gaze was resting on him, questioning him. Aziraphale was surprised he didn’t just try something. It’d be easy to slap his hand away and give him an indignant push if Crowley tried to touch or kiss him. On the other hand, if he waited for Aziraphale to make the first move, he probably thought he’d have won.

That wasn’t it. He looked up from his hands and at Crowley’s face. Studied his eyes, saw the tip of his tongue flick over his lips. The muscles beneath his hands tensed as he kept looking and Crowley’s shoulders threatened to disappear in the back cushion of the chair.

Crowley wasn’t playing games. He was full of hope and pain and scared of what would happen if Aziraphale gave in and what if he didn’t. 

Crowley… Aziraphale’s lips formed his name without a sound. There was something about Crowley that the demon could never be aware of or it would disappear. Aziraphale laughed and sneered when Crowley had tried to tempt him in various ways. It was funny but had barely affected the angel, at least not the way Crowley hoped. He wasn’t blind to the demon’s attractive face and that pleasant growl his voice would drift off to when he was drunk and tired. But those were games and Aziraphale had a knack for playing them by his own rules without letting Crowley know.

But when Crowley was like this…so uncertain and unguarded. Limp and tense at the same time, glimpses of his body and heart exposed, and the fine, red hairs rising on his skin. 

Aziraphale’s feelings for the demon had taken root a long time ago and he had known how Crowley felt about him as long. He had sealed this knowledge away in his heart. It was a burden he gladly carried, for eternity if he had to. 

That didn’t help him at all with the passionate side of things. It didn’t help that Crowley was the most tempting when he didn’t try to be and the sensations Aziraphale felt when Crowley was like this right under his fingertips bypassed his restrained heart and shot right into the groin. 

“One night, you say…” His fingers wandered over Crowley’s bony breastbone. He spread them, a delightful shudder going down his spine as he listened to the sharp gasp when his fingertips almost touched Crowley’s nipples that were still hidden under the shirt. 

“Angel.” 

“What is it, dear?”

“You could miracle my clothes dry.” 

“That I could.” He had wasted miracles on more minor things. He didn’t want to, plain and simple. Aziraphale chuckled. Crowley wasn’t playing games tonight. He was. He just hadn’t realized he had already started to play the moment he had dragged Crowley inside.

He moved his hand over Crowley’s collarbone, then throat. For a second, it was like he wanted to grab Crowley by the chin, but he let his palm rest on his cheek instead. His thumb stroke over Crowley’s lips.

“If you promise it’s enough for you, you can have one night. Not more. And you will watch your words. Are you sure you can accept this?” The strict, cold tone of his voice hurt in his own ears. It could have been thrilling if it wasn’t so serious. 

“I promise. Whatever you want, I promise.” Crowley spoke with a solemn earnestness that was unheard of among demons. Aziraphale had no doubt Crowley believed what he said. Aziraphale feared his vision of how this dangerous game would end was closer to the truth, but that was something he’d worry about in the morning. For now, he let Crowley lift his hands to touch his face, his stiff fingers barely daring to touch Aziraphale’s cheeks. 

“I probably should not let you know how long I’ve wanted to hear those words from you.” He laughed. His fingers dug into Crowley’s hair. He pulled him up to meet his mouth.

Their first kiss was not the material sweet romances were made off. The second their lips touched, thousands of years of longing burnt away any hint of finesse. Crowley’s lips were cold and tasted of wine and chlorine from the pool. Not what Aziraphale expected but then again, Crowley rarely did things by the book, and Aziraphale loved him for that. 

He pulled Crowley to his feet. He had to stretch a bit to not interrupt the kiss. Crowley’s hands dropped onto Aziraphale’s shoulders and clung to them as if he needed to hold on to not fall. Aziraphale pulled him close and steered him away from the armchair. Crowley followed his lead, almost stumbling over his feet. Aziraphale felt Crowley’s lips twitch. He eagerly answered the kiss, grunting when Aziraphale’s tongue slid inside his mouth. His body, however, was stiff as a board and he didn’t move an inch unless Aziraphale pushed him. 

Aziraphale took a step back. Crowley’s eyes were still yellow, his cheeks coloured crimson. His tongue flicked over his lips. He looked like he’d have no idea what to do with his lanky body if he couldn’t hold on to Aziraphale’s shoulders. The angel smiled. It was lovely to know that he could surprise Crowley and that a single kiss was enough to make the usually so cheeky demon nervous. 

“Is this…this is happening, isn’t it?” Crowley sounded as flustered as he looked, swallowing half of the words. 

“If you still want it.” Aziraphale put his hands on Crowley’s hips. His smile widened. This had been his first tentative fantasy about the demon. Not a kiss, not picturing him undressed. Just standing there, only a few inches between them, and his hands on these narrow hips. 

“If I still want it.” Crowley snorted and lowered his head. He hesitated and his tension eased a little bit when Aziraphale kissed him again. His lips were softer than before and not cold anymore and Aziraphale kissed him harder. It was ridiculous that they didn’t have much time after waiting for so long. As much as he longed to kiss Crowley for hours until he became too undone to say his name, Aziraphale wanted everything at once, now. 

“Angel…” Crowley breathed when Aziraphale pushed their groins together. Aziraphale almost sent a silent prayer of gratitude to Heaven for this gift that could only have come from God. Crowley was hard and his damp, tight pants didn’t do much to conceal it. He could almost feel the outline of Crowley’s cock through their clothes as it was pressed against Aziraphale’s soft belly. 

“Mhmm,” Aziraphale hummed in response. His fingers reached for Crowley’s belt and easily opened the buckle. He didn’t plan to rush it. He had dreamed but never planned and now that it was coming true, dreams didn’t matter anymore. So he had one night. They could do slow and sensual until the morning but first, Aziraphale had to have him, as urgently as Crowley wanted him. He would show him the delights of patience and teasing afterwards. 

The wet fabric around the trousers’ buttons turned out to be a bigger obstacle than the buckle. His manicured fingernails threatened to tear but that was a sacrifice he was willing to make. He almost jumped when Crowley suddenly grabbed Aziraphale’s hands. His fingers were still cold but not from the water, Aziraphale could sense that. 

“Wait! I…” Crowley took a step backwards. Aziraphale was about to say something when Crowley’s back hit a bookshelf and he cried out in pain. The angel’s confusion was quickly pushed aside and replaced by worry.

“Crowley! Dear, what’s wrong?” He was right by Crowley’s side and slipped a shoulder under his arm to support him. 

“Nothing, nothing. I’m good.” 

“Since when?” But Aziraphale’s smirk vanished when Crowley flinched in pain again, this time, because of the hand Aziraphale had put on his back. “Sorry. And no, obviously, something is very wrong right now. Take off your shirt!”

“Nah. I’ll just miracle it dry.” Crowley lifted his fingers but Aziraphale pushed his arm down before he could snap them. 

“This isn’t about your dip into the pool and you know it. Shirt off, Crowley, before I miracle it away!” Something he should have done right away. Aziraphale swallowed down the guilt that tightened his throat as Crowley slowly slipped out of his jacket and shirt. He was worried and whatever caused Crowley pain was more important than them making out. But he couldn’t help appreciating the contrast between the soft-looking reddish fuzz on Crowley’s chest and his pale skin. He was skinny, the ribs visible but not protruding. The curve of his collarbone was beautiful and the thoughts he had about Crowley’s pink nipples would condemn his soul forever in most religions, if the humans’ ideas about God’s will were right. 

But the distracting thoughts quickly disappeared when he took a look at Crowley’s back.

“Holy- Oh no! Crowley, what have you done?” Several patches of burnt skin covered the demon’s back. Fortunately, they hadn’t split his flesh, but the burns were deep and fresh enough to make Aziraphale’s back hurt just by looking at them. 

“What you told me.” Crowley shrugged, a lopsided grin on his face. “Checked out paintings of your naked butt.” Making jokes and teasing Aziraphale as if the injuries were nothing seemed to relax him. His body lost some of its stiffness. Aziraphale frowned. There was more going on here than hidden injuries and he was beginning to have an idea what it was. 

But first things first. 

“Are you saying you actually went into the Sistine Chapel? Crowley!” He crossed his arms and pressed his lips together in a slim line of disapproval. Crowley raised his hands to his defence.

“Just did what you told me,” he repeated. The outer sides of his eyes regained their white colour. 

“I said go to the library and look at a book! Not to get yourself burnt!”

“Books! About pictures! I’m not a child. No, angel, as an art connoisseur, I- What are you doing?” He stumbled after Aziraphale who had grabbed his hand and dragged him into the bedroom. 

He pushed Crowley towards the bed and it was more luck than balance that stopped him from falling right into it. Aziraphale glared at him, his arms still crossed. The door closed behind him, the lock clicking shut as an invisible key turned in it. 

“Uh…” Crowley ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. Under different circumstances, Aziraphale would have cast a longing glance at the red curls but that had to wait. 

“Get out of your clothes.” 

Crowley’s eyes widened and the flush was back on his cheeks. 

“Wha-”

“Out of your clothes, I said. Undress and turn around.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the last chapter ♥ I hope you all had a good time reading so far. I rarely post everything all at once so... it's really odd? Without any feedback or reactions between the beginning and end? Doesn't matter. Thank you, guys, for creating a lovely fandom like ours!

After experiencing Heaven, his fall, Hell, and the rise of humanity since its dawn, Crowley had been positive nothing could shock him anymore.

He opened his mouth to quip something witty back at Aziraphale, but as he looked into the intense gaze of the angel’s blue eyes, he felt his jaws close and his hands move to his pants, to finally unbutton them. He kicked off his shoes and climbed out of his socks and pants, a deed easier said than done since they were still wet and clinging to his damp skin. He thought of miracling them dry but even as he looked down he felt Aziraphale watching him closely. Heat shot into his face. This seemed so unlike the prim and proper angel, but it aligned with the wicked twinkles of Aziraphale’s many portrayals in the chapel. It was worse than being under the watchful eyes of God herself. As far as he was aware, She didn’t really give a damn about what was under his clothes. 

He shoved the pile of clothes to the side with his foot and straightened himself, trying to ignore the fact that his cock was beginning to harden again, despite the pain of the burns and the absurdity of the situation. He bit his tongue to keep his breathing under control. Nothing had been like he imagined. From the greedy kiss initiated by Aziraphale to whatever was going on right now. 

Aziraphale gave a sharp nod in his direction and Crowley turned around. At first, that seemed like a good idea; he would be less exposed to Aziraphale whose eyes appraised what he saw without shame. But as soon as he had turned his back to him, a sense of unease came over him. Aziraphale not being able to look at his front also meant Crowley couldn’t see him. At all. He closed his eyes and waited for the lecture. He had come here straight from his visit to the chapel, there hadn’t been any time to take a look at the extent of his injuries. Judging from Aziraphale’s sharp hiss, the sight he offered had to be ugly. What a sad end to what should have been the best night of his life. 

A cold hand touched one of his shoulder blades. Crowley stiffened, silently cursing himself. What was wrong with his body that he reacted like this to a simple touch? Or a kiss? Humans did this all the time and they remained relaxed. He knew many demons who were capable of acts like this and found enjoyment in them. It’d be just his luck if he turned out to be too broken. 

“The burns were caused by sacred energy,” the angel muttered behind him. “I’m sorry, I can’t heal them.”

“I know. Neither can I. I tried.” Crowley sighed. He had tried with his feet but Aziraphale was right. Holy energy on demons, Hellfire on angels; both were resistant to all magical healing. What didn’t kill or mutilate them could only heal with time. Suddenly, a shudder crept across his shoulder from where Aziraphale touched him. It felt nice.

“What are you doing?” he asked, unable to suppress a shiver.

“I lowered my body temperature. I might not be able to heal you but I can ease your pain.” 

“Oh.” That was why he couldn’t tell at first what was different. He was still feeling the chill from his involuntary swim anyway. Now that Aziraphale mentioned it, however, he felt the increased coldness. It took hold of his whole back when a soft body pressed against him. 

His muscles froze but not from the low temperature. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him and put his hand on his chest, his fingers spread as if he avoided touching his nipples on purpose. But that didn’t stop the tingling sensation that took hold of his nerves. 

“There’s something else you need to tell me,” Aziraphale asked. No, he didn’t ask. He stated a fact.

“No idea what you’re talking about.” He wanted to lean into the embrace and find Aziraphale’s mouth for another kiss. To try to touch him. He suspected that the angel’s weakness for frivolous miracles had gotten the better of him and that was why he was suddenly without his sweater. Crowley wanted to touch him badly. His skin and curves had looked so soft and alluring in the paintings, he was dying to feel them under his own fingertips. If he could only relax already! 

“Lying has never been your strong suit, dear.” 

Cold fingers brushed over Crowley’s nipples. He gasped sharply. He hadn’t realized how hard they had become and how sensitive. He squirmed but Aziraphale’s arms didn’t give him any wiggle room. 

“Angel!” he hissed when Aziraphale’s fingernails scratched over them. Without giving Crowley a chance to recover, his now ice-cold fingertips pinched one of the stiff nipples. He whimpered in pain and in confusion when the sensation shot straight to his cock. 

“We could do this quickly. Hard and passionate. Driven by nothing but lust and see if we feel like doing more at a different pace after that. Does that sound good to you?” 

“Hng!” 

Aziraphale’s cold lips nibbled on the skin of crook of his neck but his breath was warm as he whispered to him. Crowley searched his brain for a snarky reply but all he managed was an unintelligible stutter. The angel had to be joking! Of course, that sounded great to him! As if he, the demon, would be against a quick, hard fuck! Just because he hadn’t imagined their first time together like this didn’t mean he couldn’t keep up with an angel! Now he just needed to figure out how to regain control over his body. Then he’d turn around and show Aziraphale that he had no problem with fast and filthy. 

Instead, he was close to petrified. He felt the touches and by Satan, Aziraphale would kill him if he continued to play with his nipples like that, if he didn’t die from the ache of his cock first! But he still couldn’t do anything himself. His arms were uselessly hanging by his sides. His fingers twitched but he had no idea what to do with them. 

Then, Aziraphale’s pants, that had somehow still been a protective layer between them, were gone. Without them, the angel’s thick, warm cock pressed between the cheeks of Crowley’s ass. At the same time, one of Aziraphale’s hands slid down to the demon’s cock. 

“No! Stop!” Crowley heard himself shout and he slapped a hand across his mouth as soon as he realized what he had just done. The grip of arms around him loosened but Aziraphale was still holding him. 

“Fuck…” Covering his face with both hands, he sighed. Great, his millennia-long plan to seduce his angel if he ever got the chance had failed gorgeously. 

“It’s okay, my dear.” The commandeering tone of Aziraphale’s voice softened as he gently kissed the back of Crowley’s throat. His skin was still cold where it touched Crowley’s burns but his lips became warm. Aziraphale tightened his arms around him but there was no force and his hands weren’t close to any sensitive areas. Crowley felt his knees relaxing and he sunk into the embrace. 

“Finally.” Aziraphale sounded amused despite his deep sigh. He took Crowley’s hand and gently pulled it away from his face. He moved past Crowley and sat down on the bed, patting the spot next to him. “Come, dear. Sit with me for a while, would you?” 

Crowley shrugged in an attempt to look like his aloof self. But with his face on fire and barely able to look at the naked angel while he was naked himself, he failed miserably. 

“Sure, whatever.” He gingerly sat down on the edge of the bed, his fingers clawing into the mattress. He glanced at Aziraphale who smiled kindly at him with an affectionate warmth that made him feel more relaxed than he had since the party. At the same time, he felt like an idiot. 

“If you don’t mind, let’s get more comfortable. It’s a lovely bed, it’d be a waste to only occupy a single, small spot.” Aziraphale shoved himself towards the middle of the bed and sat with his back against the headboard. He gestured for Crowley to come closer. Crowley shrugged again. He had zero control over the situation, he might as well accept it for what it was. 

A few seconds later he was sitting between Aziraphale’s legs, his back against the angel’s cool chest, his arms around him. Aziraphale’s chin rested on Crowley’s shoulder and Crowley’s head against Aziraphale’s. Although they were both naked and the sexual tension was still crackling between them, the hug wasn’t sexual. It was comfortable, soothing the pain of the burns on his back and also his feet, now that they were getting a rest. At the same time, the embrace was warm. If leaving control to Aziraphale always turned out like this he could get used to it. 

“I still can’t believe you’re a v-”

“Don’t say that!” Crowley groaned. “And for the record, I didn’t say I’m a… I’m less experienced than you, either!” He pressed his lips together when Aziraphale chuckled into his ear. The warm breath raised the hair on his neck. 

“No, you impossible fool, but you should have! I feel horrible for pushing you. I just assumed… well.” The angel nuzzled the skin below Crowley’s ear. It tickled in all the pleasant ways possible. “Don’t get me wrong, it was my fault. If I had talked to you first instead of giving in to my impatience I wouldn’t have scared you like that. But until today, your manners spoke of a different truth.”

“I wasn’t scared!” Crowley sneered. He had closed his eyes to focus more on how Aziraphale’s lips felt on his skin. His hands rested on the angel’s thighs. He still wasn’t sure what to do with them but for now, he was content with feeling the warmth and softness under his palms. “And my manners spoke a different truth because yours did, too! It’s not like you ever bothered to tell me that Heaven’s Principality of Permanent Earth Duty is a very naughty angel.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried out in exasperation. “I should scold you! But,” he added with a chuckle, “I’m relieved. You are almost your natural self again, my dear. A perfect pest.” 

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere with me, angel.” Crowley huffed in pretended indignation. “Unlike your painting peasants, I have standards.” 

“Is that so.” Aziraphale playfully nibbled on his earlobe, drawing a content growl from him. “Well then, fiery maiden, will you share your standards with me or shall I discover them myself?”

“Oh, go to hell, you perverted angel!” Crowley laughed and twisted his torso until he could look at Aziraphale’s face. Every line spoke of tenderness. The rosy colour of his cheeks and a sparkle in his eyes that Crowley hadn’t seen before told him that the angel was enjoying this situation very much. He was curious. He had seen a side of his angel he hadn’t known before - and certainly not expected of any angel, but least of all him. After all, he was the kindest, most well-meaning, actually good-hearted one of the bunch. 

So, naturally, Aziraphale was patiently waiting for Crowley’s answer. That was so like him. But even though he put on an act earlier to push Crowley towards admitting his lack of sexual experience, there had been something in his voice, a comfortable firmness, that wasn’t part of a prank. It worked too well for that. The thought of giving Aziraphale control over this was intimidating. On the other hand, telling him what he wanted was intimidating in its own way. Especially since Crowley wasn’t sure anymore what exactly he wanted to happen. Only that he wanted it to happen with Aziraphale. 

“I-I don’t know.” Between a few words, the mood between them had changed. The embrace felt less innocent and suddenly, all the places where they touched were more aware of the angel’s closeness than ever. “It’s a silly question. We’re not in one of those sappy Shakespeare plays.” He turned his head away as the same helplessness from before came over him.

“Hey now.” Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley’s face and gently turned it back to him. “Let’s try something. If you don’t find it enjoyable, I ask you to end it immediately.” 

There was that firmness again and Crowley couldn’t do anything but nod. 

Once more, the angel kissed him. 

It was different than before. Aziraphale’s lips barely brushed over his but they were still present in all their softness. It was more of a tickle than a real kiss and before Crowley knew it, he leaned into it a little more, closing his eyes as the pressure became stronger. Aziraphale was taking his time. He nibbled on Crowley’s lip, his tongue only teasing when Crowley opened his mouth slightly. One arm was wrapped around Crowley’s shoulder with a strength that assured Crowley that he’d hold him if he slipped away but it left him enough room to free himself from their closeness whenever he chose to. 

An old clock was ticking on the other side of the bedroom, a painful reminder that they weren’t sheltered by eternity. This moment would come to an end, a realization that hurt Crowley in his heart, but also had another strange effect. If all things came to an end, so would the teasing. But as softly as the kiss began, it continued. It was everything he wanted, at first, and while he never wanted it to end he also began to crave more. While he was sure that Aziraphale would take it a step further if Crowley demanded it, he began to suspect he’d miss out on something if he didn’t leave the decision to the angel. 

His hands began to twitch. Aziraphale covered one with his and intertwined their fingers. More moments passed and Crowley found it difficult to maintain his composure. This was just a kiss, not even half as intense as before, yet he was panting. He was still sitting in a slightly twisted pose and the muscles of his back began to hurt and he struggled to keep his body up. But there was Aziraphale who would hold him in place if Crowley let him. As the kiss continued, Crowley began to realize he’d have to give in if he didn’t end it. Which was something he definitely wouldn’t do, not in another 6000 years.

The limper he was in Aziraphale’s arms, the bolder the kiss became. Crowley’s lips were hot and swollen and when Aziraphale’s tongue finally slipped inside his mouth he welcomed it with a greedy moan. He was harder than before when Aziraphale carefully lowered him onto the bed. The same coolness from before soothed the pain on his back and legs. 

Aziraphale stroked through his hair for a while as they continued to kiss. A hand traced his collarbone and moved to his chest, the fingertips becoming cooler with every inch. Crowley was about to tease Aziraphale about using cheap tricks but any protest was suffocated by his moan when the cold fingers kept brushing over one of his firm nipples. 

“Cheater,” he managed to breathe as soon as Aziraphale released his mouth. 

“You like it.” The angel smiled down on him. 

“Oh fuck, I sure do, you-” He hissed sharply when his nipple was pinched between Aziraphale’s thumb and index. 

“Fuuuck…” He covered his face with his hands but Aziraphale pulled them away. 

“Just remember to tell me when it stops being fun for you.” 

“If. Dammit!” With Aziraphale stopping him from hiding his face, Crowley tossed his head to the side. His hands dug into the sheets. 

“You can touch me if you want.” Aziraphale picked up one of his hands and pressed a kiss on its back. “But if it’s too stressful, you could hold on to the headboard.” 

Crowley twisted his neck. Indeed, the headboard was a narrow maze of flowers, leaves and tendrils. He nodded and reached for Aziraphale’s face.

“Kiss?”

“Not right away.” Aziraphale brushed back Crowley’s hair and kissed his forehead. “I want to hear more of this. If you don’t mind,” he added and gave Crowley’s nipple another pinch. The sensitive skin was beginning to feel raw from all the attention and a sharp, bright pain Crowley couldn’t compare to anything he had experienced in his existence tingled up and down his nerves. A long moan escaped his throat and he bucked his hips. He grabbed the iron tendrils behind him and held on tightly. 

“Mhmmm.” Aziraphale hummed with satisfaction. Catching his breath, Crowley half-opened his eyes and glimpsed at Aziraphale’s cock. It looked as wide and meaty as it had felt before when it was pressed against his ass. Intimidating seemed to be his theme of the evening. He wondered what had inspired Aziraphale to shape this part of his body like that, and when, but he quickly became distracted. Aziraphale breathed over his tortured nipple and gave it a quick lick. 

Crowley became painfully aware of his own hardness that demanded attention. And now that he had thought of it, his mind refused to think of anything else. Every sensation, gentle or painful, went right to his groin. 

Aziraphale’s mouth was back on his. It was what he wanted but also what he didn’t want at the same time, but like before, he felt he had to leave the pace to the angel who knew very well what he was doing. Every move was confident, every touch drove Crowley a little bit more insane and desperate. 

“Are you okay?” Aziraphale was lying next to him, caressing his face. 

“You really don’t have to ask.” Crowley rolled his eyes and kept staring at Aziraphale’s red lips. 

“Because you aren’t or because you’re embarrassed to tell the truth?”

Crowley blushed and turned his gaze away in lieu of an answer. That damn angel was seeing right through him. 

“I see. Well, that’s something we should work on.” 

“You sound a little too happy about that, angel,” Crowley scoffed but he couldn’t even convince himself.

“I am.” The angel laughed cheerfully and kissed him again. His hand glided lovingly over his hip. It felt nice but it was too close to where he really wanted to be touched to fully enjoy it. “How far would you let me go tonight?”

“As far as you want,” Crowley replied, doing his best to not glance at his dick and failed miserably. 

“I’m asking you, my dear. Call me old fashioned,” he sat up and Crowley suddenly felt lost and cold without Aziraphale touching him. “But if it comes to sex, I firmly believe you shouldn’t do what you couldn’t name.” 

Crowley groaned inwardly. At Aziraphale’s teasing and anyway, when had he become such a prude? This silly challenge had no right to be one of the many hard things right now!

“I just want to, uh, be with you tonight. There!” 

“We’ve been together many nights and many days, Crowley.” That amused smile was driving Crowley insane. 

“I want you to touch me. Better?” He was grinding his teeth. Why was the world against him? His own cock betrayed him as it began to twitch once it couldn’t get any harder. This was embarrassing and no body part of his should find this hot!

“That’s something I can work with.” The smile widened and for a split second, Crowley thought Aziraphale had turned into a demon. There was indeed a sardonic gleam in the angel’s eyes. Aziraphale bowed his head but instead of going lower, his teeth bit his nipple. 

Crowley cried out, arching his back, but Aziraphale grabbed him by the hips and pushed him back onto the bed and held him down. All Crowley could do was to whimper and toss his head while Aziraphale kept sucking and licking. 

“Stop! By Satan, mercy!” So this was the bar now. He was begging an angel for mercy. He hadn’t begged God for mercy before the fall and if Satan demanded it, Crowley would give him the finger. 

Damn, that angel was good. 

Aziraphale stopped at once and sat up again, patiently waiting for Crowley to calm down, one hand flat on Crowley’s stomach. 

“Well?” 

“Dick,” Crowley pressed through his lips. “Now!” Okay, that wasn’t bad, he did it. He was getting the hang of things. But to his surprise, Aziraphale didn’t turn to his cock. That sadistic sparkle was back and he knelt down next to Crowley’s head. He grabbed Crowley’s hair and pulled him towards him. Crowley’s eyes widened when he finally understood. The angel’s cock was only a few inches away from him.

“You-!” He didn’t finish the sentence. This was the perfect opportunity to pay him back. He switched to a more comfortable position for his neck and placed his hands on Aziraphale’s waist for balance. He opened his mouth but then hesitated.

“Don’t overthink it.” Aziraphale gently played with his hair. Crowley felt the weight of his hand on the back of his head but there wasn’t any pressure. “Don’t bite, don’t hurt yourself, don’t suffocate,” Aziraphale continued, “aside from that, there’s nothing you can do wrong. Would you like to try it?” He grabbed his cock and gave the shaft a firm stroke. It should be impossible but it seemed to grow even bigger.

“Fuck, yes.” Crowley took a deep breath. He opened his mouth and learned his first lesson. What looked big to his eyes was even bigger in his mouth. He had observed humans doing this, he had watched porn, and for the first time, he doubted he could swallow a cock whole. He was able to stretch his jaws wider than a human but that took time, preparation, and getting it all back in place was far from comfortable. For now, he decided to work with the limitations he had. 

He looked up at Aziraphale who gave him an encouraging nod. The expression of bliss was undeniable and Crowley hadn’t even managed to take half of that dick into his mouth. He worked his way down but had to pause after each inch to adjust. 

“Try using your tongue,” Aziraphale suggested during one of those breaks, his voice more strained than before. Crowley followed the advice and worked the head with his tongue, surprised at the thrill and satisfaction when the angel moaned softly. 

“Very good. You learn quickly.” 

The words of praise did something to Crowley’s insides that he couldn’t explain. Had he been eager before, he was now desperate to do a better job. He managed to push past his gag reflex and to move his tongue at the same time. He was still a world away from swallowing the whole thing.

“Excellent. Just like that.”

A moan suffocated in the back of his throat, muffled by the sweet and salty cock. He squirmed and his own cock touched the duvet. 

“Don’t.” Aziraphale pushed his hip back, nipping Crowley’s attempt to rub his cook between the sheets in the bud. “Show some restraint. Do you think you can do that?”

Hell, of course, he could. He hated it, his whole lower body was hurting by now, as were his jaws, and his neck. But it was all worth it when Aziraphale sighed.

“You’re doing very well, dear.” But instead of pushing further, he pulled out. He put a hand under Crowley’s chin and lifted his face. “Crowley, my dearest. Please know that you can say no and ask for anything else. But I have to ask. I want to have you. I promise I’ll make you feel good if you let me sleep with you.” 

“Fuck, yes! Let’s do this!” He was like on a high and couldn’t help laughing at the sound of his undignified reaction in response to Aziraphale’s beautifully worded request. He didn’t intend to mock him. The truth was in every word and how he chose to place it added another tingle to the mess of his nerves. 

“You’re eager, dear.” Luckily, the angel has taken no offence. Aziraphale chuckled and suddenly, he was above Crowley. Crowley couldn’t stop smiling. He was needy and horny but the mix of affection and arousal in Aziraphale’s face was divine. He barely noticed the hand that lovingly stroked his hips, not until it moved deeper and went between his legs to push them apart. 

“You might want to hold on to something.” Aziraphale nodded at the headboard behind Crowley who got a good grip on a vine. “Good. Tell me when it’s too much.” That was the last warning Crowley got before Aziraphale pushed Crowley’s legs back until his hole was exposed. 

Crowley held his breath. He had thought of the concept but had never thought it through. It was too late now. He felt vulnerable and nervous but those weren’t good enough reasons to change his mind. He grunted and twitched when a cold finger pressed past his muscle. It slid inside with unexpected ease but he felt slightly uncomfortably stretched. How he was supposed to handle a whole cock was beyond him. 

“Relax, my dear. Focus on what you feel now.” Aziraphale’s free hand pushed one of Crowley’s legs back. He didn’t want to close them, it was a reflex.

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. You’re doing very well. Don’t clench your jaws, please. I want to hear you.” 

“Pervert,” Crowley groaned. Aziraphale chuckled and leaned over him, inevitably pushing his finger deeper. 

“You’re the one moaning with a finger in your hole, your cock twitching every time I let you know when you’re doing something well. I’d like to suggest, my boy, as far as being a pervert goes, we complement each other beautifully. Oh, and in case you haven’t noticed, I added a little feature to make it easier. It’ll disappear tomorrow.” 

As if to prove his point, Aziraphale added a second finger. Instead of going deep, he used both fingers to put pressure against Crowley’s hole. All Crowley managed was a moan, he didn’t even find the words to express his astonishment when his ass became slicker in response to Aziraphale spreading him. 

“Very convenient, isn’t it? It wouldn’t work if you didn’t enjoy it.” Aziraphale’s thumb stroked over Crowley’s bottom lip. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, my handsome demon, but I really want to be sure you don’t nod and endure to please me. Not when you don’t have fun.” 

“By Satan…” This angel was going to be the end of him. His cock hurt and was leaking. His ass hurt and was dripping with the fluid Aziraphale had cursed him with. He was exposed, embarrassed, teased, and, worst, loving it. He had reached a point where he couldn’t imagine that Aziraphale could do anything with him that he wouldn’t love, as long as it turned him on. 

“Oh, the lovely things I would show you if we were free…” Aziraphale spoke like in a dream, his gaze longingly wandering over Crowley’s body while his fingers fucked him. “So many things. I’m certain you’d be delighted, willing and eager as you are.” 

Crowley closed his eyes, trying not to think of the possibility of a future together. For the first time, he was scared of his own imagination. Heaven knew - or probably didn’t - what kind of ideas Aziraphale had in his mind. Although of that, he had no doubt, he would indeed be eager to try everything. 

“There you go, dear, I need you relaxed just like that.” 

Crowley opened his eyes and before he knew it, he pressed his teeth together. 

“Bastard,” he hissed through them. That bastard angel had taken advantage of his wandering mind and replaced his fingers with the head of his cock. Only a fist could have prepared him for that. The pain was tolerable but he felt stretched beyond all limits. 

“Breathe. You’re doing excellent.” 

“Thought you’d take more time to get me ready. Ugh!” He tossed his head back.

“That was mostly to get you used to the thought of having something pushed inside you. More importantly, I’m taking my time. And, my dear, I’m not sorry to inform you that you’re extremely wet.” 

Hell, that angel! He wasn’t lying. After every inch, he paused, only to push deeper once the pressure lessened. Crowley hated how much he loved it. 

“Tell me how it feels.” 

Not again! Crowley was too busy with actually feeling what was happening to his body to talk. He struggled to calm down his breath enough to answer. 

“Full.” His brain and tongue weren’t capable of more. 

“How do you like it?” 

“Jerk!” That came out like “Jrrrk.” Of course, this jerk couldn’t simply ask a yes-or-no question, that would have been too easy. 

“Love it.” He lacked the strength to lie or deflect. Might as well give up and Aziraphale what he wanted. 

“And now a full sentence. Come on, you can do it.” 

He buried his face in his hands. This was too much. He was reaching his limit and the cock was barley half the way in. If his own cock had a personality it would hate him for all the neglect. He couldn’t handle more but also couldn’t disappoint his angel. 

“I love it. To feel full. With you.” 

Like before, Aziraphale bent over him to kiss him, forcing his cock a few extra inches inside Crowley. 

“That will do for today. I know that was hard for you. Good work.” 

“Oh, fuck you!” Crowley clawed into the angel’s curls and kissed him with raw, hard need. This was worlds away from the earlier kiss, or any kiss they shared today. He lacked technique and practice; in fact, the first kiss he initiated started out rather clumsy. But he’d show Aziraphale that he was indeed a fast learner. 

The following words of praise went past his ears and over his head. Aziraphale began to thrust and a wave of new, contradicting but wonderful sensations drowned out any other voices in his head. 

“Azzz…” He stared at his angel’s red face. The splendour of Eden paled against Aziraphale’s beauty. And this wonderful being wanted him. He was sleeping with him, a useless, unimportant demon. The best angel there was in Heaven was here with him, and fucked him. 

“Come, my dearest. You’ve earned it.” Aziraphale slid a hand under Crowley’s dick and pressed it against his soft belly. Crowley’s eyes rolled back as the tension in his lower body exploded. Aziraphale had directed the rhythm from the beginning, but now Crowley couldn’t meet him halfway anymore. He went limp and helpless, there was nothing he could do as Aziraphale kept fucking him until he came. Thinking about that alone almost sent him over the edge a second time. 

He listened to the angel’s grunts and to the comforting words that followed without understanding much more than the sentiment behind them. He was getting cold, now that the rush was dying down. He didn’t shiver for long. A blanket was wrapped around him and he was pulled into a tight, warm hug that smelled like Aziraphale. 

“Love you,” Crowley mumbled with an exhausted smile on his face.

“Crowley…”

“But I do.” He blinked a few times. There wasn’t an inch of his body that wasn’t sore and he welcomed sleep to fix the worst of it while he was dreaming. But he needed to clarify one more thing. He had to hear it. “And you love me, too, don’t you?” He hadn’t expected Aziraphale to hesitate. That one delayed moment threatened to freeze his heart and suck the meaning of everything that just happened. 

“Of course I do. Sleep now, Crowley.” The angel spoke the truth, Crowley felt it, but he also felt the hint of sadness behind Aziraphale’s words. He had to get to the bottom of that matter as soon as possible. After the happiest nap in the world. 

* * *

Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s hair until the demon had fallen asleep and then a little while longer. He was in love with the rich red colour. He was in love with everything about Crowley and from now on, that would include this night. 

Tired and his desires pacified, for now, doubts were invading his thoughts. Had he been too pushy? He had watched Crowley closely, how couldn’t he? Seeing the cocky demon become undone was the most beautiful thing he had seen in his life. There wasn’t the slightest hint that he wasn’t enjoying what they did, very much to Aziraphale’s delight. He had certain preferences. On top of it all was Crowley, but that he was able to experience Crowley and some of the things he liked together was a blessing. 

He looked at the still, peaceful face and smiled. Who’d have thought that this loudmouth that so confidently swayed his hips as if he owned the world could be brought to the brink of an orgasm with a few words of praise. He couldn’t wait to explore the extent of their compatibility. 

Aziraphale turned on his back and sighed. That wasn’t going to happen any time soon. He had thought long and hard about a way out, but there wasn’t a solution in sight. Not as long as the prophecy about the end of the world and that silly war between angels and demons existed. Who knew if they’d still exist once that debacle was over. 

He looked again at Crowley. That fool. If he had only fallen asleep right away but as usual, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. They could have had a few more hours together, but Crowley had to destroy that by voicing what Aziraphale already knew. And what Crowley should already know. 

The room was safe, as was the house. They hadn’t found them yet. But he sensed a disturbance close to the borders of the city. It was angry and violent and searching. Another one not too far away. 

It was only a question of time and it didn’t matter whether Gabriel and his division found them first or the demons that were coming after Crowley. They couldn’t expect mercy if they were found like this by either side.

He sighed. He was able to push down his emotions and hide them from Heaven. Crowley, however, lacked that discipline. They could deny what happened, pretend there was a mistake, why would they mention that dangerous word? Unless they expressed how much they’d love to destroy each other. It would be difficult and so scary, it would turn his hair grey if he let it. Nevertheless, Aziraphale was certain he could pull it off. The archangels were probably more used to his lying self anyway by now and would be suspicious if he weren’t nervous in their presence. 

Crowley, however…he caressed the pale face. Warmth had finally returned to his skin. How long would he be able to withstand the interrogations and torture until he screamed the truth into their faces and told them to fuck themselves?

With another deep, sad sigh he untangled himself from the demon’s arms. A handful of quick miracles cleaned up the evidence of their unholy, unhellish crime - being in love and acting on it. To not push his luck, he dressed the inconvenient way, by putting on piece after piece. 

He could explain away the cleaning of the pool house that belonged to the human he was assigned to. Reasoning why he had been naked around a demon while doing so, that would complicate things.

But maybe those were nothing but excuses because he wasn’t done yet. The worst, most cruel task was still waiting for him. He didn’t want to do it. It was wrong. It was cruel. Yet, he didn’t see another way. He had known it would have to end like this since the moment he opened the door but that didn’t make it easier.

“Crowley,” he whispered in a forced, cheerful voice and stroked over Crowley’s head. “You are on a mission in Italy. You drank too much at a party hosted by the owner of this villa. You saw someone who vaguely resembled me and were embarrassed when you cursed him out in my place. That’s why you retreated to the pool house, to sleep it all off, dreaming of everything you like best.” 

Crowley muttered something in his sleep that Aziraphale couldn’t understand, but he saw a change in the demon’s face. He still looked relaxed, still happy, but there was more.

The longing was back. Aziraphale swallowed hard. He hadn’t noticed before how strong it was.

They were coming closer. 

“I’m so, so sorry.”

He wrapped the blankets tightly around Crowley. All they’d find here was a barely sobered up demon with no trace of their encounter, no matter how thoroughly they combed through his memories. There was nothing else he could do for him but treasure and mourn what had been and what could have been. He’d carry this burden for both of them, for eternity, if he had to.

He stood up and left to see if the festivities in the main building had come to an end. 


End file.
